The Black Star
by Levee
Summary: Daughter of a disinherited Black and a muggle American, Ashland hid from the Wizarding world until her father's last wish and her cousin's journal sent her to England, Harry and the war. HG,HrR,NL,ReT,post HBP
1. Prologue: A Second Chance at Death

This story is obviously AU--most significantly because I sketched it out before JKR auctioned off the Black family tree, giving us all a history lesson on the Blacks. I'm sticking with the family tree I worked out for BS since some important parts of my story wouldn't make sense otherwise. The most important thing you need to know right now is that Alphard Black is Sirius' father's brother.

OoOoOoOo

Alphard had asked his daughter to help him hobble into this room last night just so he could wake up to the view through the windows before him. He'd wanted to wake up to the sun on his face, the hill country rolling out for miles before him in waves of green tree tops, the hazy outline of Austin's skyline barely visible in the distance. He'd wanted to see, at the end, the world that Beverly had loved more than any place on earth. One last time, he wanted to see the sun rise over the home she'd drawn him to.

Before he sent their precious girl right back into his world—the world they had run from.

"Adhara…"

His daughter stood from her chair across the room and walked towards him. "Don't call me that. Especially not now."

"Addie, dear…"

"That's not any better, Pops."

"Indulge a dying man's wish to call you by your name, dearest. I've only ever called you what I want to, I'm not about to change in the last moments life has to offer me."

"No, that would be too much to ask." She frowned as she said it—as though truly angry—but he saw her visibly swallow against tears blocking her throat.

"Yes, it would." Alphard would have give anything in the world to stop the pain his daughter felt. But his life was no longer his to give—his debts had been called in and it was a struggle to keep himself here now. And now…now he had to burden her even further.

She collected herself and smiled, her right eyebrow arching a bit as it always did when she went about being 'cute' as her mother used to say. Sarcastic is what he called it.

"It'd be easier to ask you to get up off your rump and help me answer these condolences." She tsked with disgust at the back of her throat. "Can you believe that Marrion West actually had the nerve to send flowers? And mostly carnations—she knows how mother felt about carnations. The old prune."

"Of course I can believe it. Scandalous. It is your name you know."

"Scandalous?"

"Adhara." A well placed spell would burn that quirked eyebrow right off her forehead… "There is still pride in tradition."

She rubbed her hands together quickly several times and then shook them out at her sides—her trademark I-am-a-stubborn-ass-and-will-not-discuss-this-now gesture.

"Your world, your family, Pops. Any speck of pride I might have felt, any wish to be acknowledged and a part of it all, died along with Mom."

"Well in any case it's a precious name, dearest. No one calls out, 'Adhara' in a crowded room to see a hundred heads turn their way. Now bring me the chest. Time is not a luxury anymore."

As Adhara crossed the cavernous living room to lift the chest he'd asked for down from the marble mantle, he kept his gaze on the view outside. The sun had just cleared the trees and in its warmth, he felt Beverly's love surround him again. If it hadn't been for his worry for Addie he'd have left this world and joined his wife then.

Addie sat down beside him on the couch, careful not to disturb him. He tried his best to sit up a bit more, but the pain left him gasping and wheezing.

"It's alright, Dad. I'll open it." She lifted the lid as he leaned back against the pillows, a short burst of air between her two front teeth her only reaction to what she saw inside. Setting the chest on the floor at her feet, she lifted a leather book out, set it in her lap, and ran her hand across the family crest on the front.

'Toujours Pur…" Her whisper was soft but full. Of anger, regret, pain, sadness, and—amazingly enough still—a hint of wistfulness.

"You know how Sirius…" he had to stop for a moment; there were other pains in the world besides the physical, and they never did fade. "How he surprised me when he betrayed the Potters. I suppose his mother was finally happy that he lived up to the family name…But I…it still hurts to think that I could have been so wrong…And even with it all, I wish you had gotten to know him, Addie."

They'd have been twins, those two. Same coloring—skin and hair, same aristocratic Black features. How many times had he heard people tell Addie she looked just like her father, or Sirius that he looked just like his Uncle Alphard? True, Beverly's genes had rounded out some of the sharper Black traits like the chin and the eyes—his girl had lovely soft green eyes instead of the trademark cold gray. But there was a twinkle in Adhara and Sirius' eyes that would have really made them twins, a symmetry in their facial expressions: arched eyebrows, loving smiles, rye smirks. That and their laughs: great, barking, loud laughs. There could never have been enough of that laughter in the world.

"Wouldn't the two of you been a pair—the mischief you could have…" He'd dreamed about his nephew and his daughter pulling pranks together, exploring Hogwarts together. But those were just daydreams and had been even before Sirius had turned on him. His family, the world he had lived in would not have allowed such a friendship—between a pure-blood heir and a blood traitor's half-blood daughter—to exist. Would not have allowed his love for Beverly to exist.

Addie took his hand and squeezed, and he drew in a breath as deeply as he could.

"I wonder if I had been around…if I hadn't abandoned him…"

"You did all you could, Dad. Gave him a shot at independence with the inheritance. Uncle Arcturus was on to you. You had us to think about…"

He patted her hand absently. "Since he's escaped I find myself hoping he will show up here, have found us somehow so that I could ask him…"

"That would have…not been good for us, Dad. And you know it."

"It wouldn't make a difference now. They got Bev anyway."

"Hell, he thinks your dead—everyone thinks you're dead, and…"

"Now, I really am."

Adhara shook her head and tugged her hand away from his grip.

"So a lot of good hiding did us. They turned Sirius; they took your mother just as I'd always feared and now me as well."

"The Healer says…"

"The Healer is wrong, Adhara. And I am more sorry than I can say to be leaving you now, with all of this mess and the even bigger mess I'm about to throw at you." Before she could start with questions he spoke over her. "Sirius may not have found me, but Regulus did."

"Regulus." Her mouth twisted with anger and disgust as she spat out the name.

She never spoke Sirius' name with such revulsion—and that was where the irony lay. Because he knew she took her cues from him as far as the wizarding world was concerned and in her tones he heard how much he still loved Sirius, still believed in him after all he'd done. And that he still condemned Regulus who had been everything Alphard hated but had at least tried to set things right at the end.

"Then that's how they found us, Regulus knew…"

"Regulus has been dead for 16 years, Addie, and we have been here all that time. If he had talked before they killed him, we would all three have been long dead and he would have truly failed."

Addie's eyes narrowed at his last words, but she kept her mouth shut in a thin angry line.

"He left that with me," he pointed to the book in her lap with his chin. "I do not understand it all, and he wouldn't give me an explanation other than it is his own journal from his time with Voldemort. He wanted his notes someplace no one would look for them. Where better than with the dead?"

He smiled at her, and she gave one of her little snorts. Though the angry pinch faded from around her eyes, and she brushed the book's cover once again.

"I thought that I could make use of it, Addie, but I still can't make heads or tales of it. It is too late for me to anyways. I am done for."

Her tears fell then, and she bowed her head so that her black curls hid her face.

"Three days ago I would never have asked you to do what I am about to ask you, Adhara. But we were safe then. If you had been here that night…" It was hard to breath now; trust him to become longwinded at the point in his life that he was out of air.

"But they will be after you now anyway, Addie. For no other reason than I dared love your mother. I can only hope that I've…that…taught you well enough. That if you do die…and you might dearest…that you die…for a…better reason than your blood. That you die as you should…fighting…instead of …like me, hiding. My fondest dream for you was that you get to… to go to Hogwarts. You belonged there Addie. And oh…how I should have…should have…fought to put you there. But I did not and…we ended up right where I made us run from—dead, dying or in danger."

"I don't care about that, Dad. All I wanted was you and mom. I love my life—all of those things…they never meant anything to me. Not like you do." She was the one smiling now, trying to make him forget the regrets of a lifetime. And the beauty of her smile, the kindness in her eyes, the woman she was…it was almost enough to make him forget.

"The lawyers…can handle the big things…the estate etc. You'll need to…get in touch…with them as soon as possible."

"Oh joy."

A laugh began deep in his chest, but it turned into a coughing fit before it could escape. He sighed as she propped him up from behind and held a glass of water to his lips for a drink. His time was here.

"What I would not give for a butterbeer." It was a sigh that he hadn't meant to be heard, but Addie did hear and pulled her wand from her pocket. With a flick she silently conjured a butterbeer. "You have been practicing."

She merely nodded as he took a sip. "I can do a few spells without the wand at all."

His smile was so full of pride she couldn't help but laugh as she sat beside him again and conjured herself a Dr. Pepper.

"Leave here… tomorrow, Addie. Leave it all to my people, including me…"

"No, Dad. I…"

"Do it." He stared her down until she stared at the pull tab on her soda can. "Do…you understand…me?"

She nodded.

"Take Regulus' book, and the trunk you will…find at the foot…of my bed. Anything he mentioned in…those notes, I tracked down from the family…estates. No one has been paying attention…to much… of it as of late. It has all been in limbo since Regulus died …and Sirius…went into Azkaban. It is all… in the trunk along with any papers…you need to contact my lawyers. I need you to take the book and the trunk to Albus Dumbledore."

Her head snapped up and she looked him in the eyes. "To Hogwarts?"

"That is where he will be."

"Well, I always did want to at least see it."

"You will have to…make a stop on… the way, dumpling."

"Ech, Dad, don't call me that either."

"I am trying to give all the pet names one last go…before the…final snuff, pumpkin doodle."

"Lord've mercy."

They smiled at each other over the familiar phrase. How many times had Bev said those same words in her soft southern drawl, exasperated with either one of them?

There was sadness in Addie's smile, but fondness and love as well. It was then that he knew that she had a chance. She was his girl after all and, like he said, she had all the makings of a Gryffindor. But then she'd always had the brains, loyalty, and cunning to be in any of the other houses. It would have been his greatest joy to see where she ended up.

"Go up to New York, Ad, and…go ahead with…the ceremony to… rename… the wing after… your mother. It… has only a… little to… do with… what… you need to do, but it will… make… me… happy to… know… that… it will be done… even though I'm dead."

"Of course, Dad. I'll be sure and bungle my way through a speech and everything. Just so you and Mom can have a good ol' laugh from up above."

"That's my… brisket bunny."

"Dad—please—if you really insist on dying then I have to know…what does that mean?"

"I haven't the… faintest idea… sugar bear. It just is…and…you just… were…well, you were…just… a… brisket bunny… that day."

She laughed then, threw her head back and barked, and it was the greatest gift she could have given him.

"Get… the… Star while you're in New York…and take… it… to Dumbledore… as well. Regulus… mentioned it too."

She nodded and slid to the floor so that she knelt beside the couch. She scooted to the head and kissed him on the brow before laying her head on his chest.

"I'll do my best dad. You know, kick some butt." She hiccupped—or maybe she chocked down a sob. Her next words were whispered. "God help me, I'll make them pay."

He sighed and watched her flinch as she heard the fluid gurgle in his chest. "Littlest… vengeance is not life…and…I would… have… you live. Deliver… these… things… and find… yourself… a… life…to… live. Remember…you are as…much…a...witch…as…you are a…Muggle…no matter how…that…hurts…you…now. Be proud of…all…of…yourself, Adhara."

"I love you, Pops."

"I love you more, Ashland."

She laughed again, squeezing her eyes against tears. And that was how Alphard died for the second and first time—his daughter's laughter ringing in his ears.

"Oh, Dad." She buried her face in his shirt so that no one heard her murmured "Thank you," before the sobs took her over.

And while she planned, packed her bags, said goodbyes and caught her flight to New York, Harry Potter stood in his Headmaster's old office, surrounded by adults who couldn't help him anymore. Who, when it came down to it, never could have. They made plans and arrangements to honor the death of the man that Adhara was supposed to make her deliveries to.

While Harry made plans of his own.


	2. 1: What's in a Sneer?

With his dieing breath her father had given her a gift: called her Ashland because that was who she had always been. All she ever wanted to be. Not some branch in a twisted family tree. Not named for some star just because that was the way things were done. Not Muggle. Not Wizard. Not half-blood. Just Ashland—Beverly and Alphard's daughter.

After all, Adhara Ashland Black didn't exist. At least not to any of the hundreds of richies (as she liked to call them) milling around the Museum's new wing like a flock of jeweled hummingbirds sucking on champagne. Didn't matter if they were Beverly Ashland and Alphard Black's business associates, 'friends,' mere acquaintances or just wished they'd had an in on the Ashland/Black circles—not one of them besides the Duncan family even suspected a daughter existed.

They still didn't know that Beverly and Alphard had been married.

Oh sure—rumors had always circled the pair. But most just figured 'affair'—the usual Rich Boss and Lowly Assistant arrangement. Even though Beverly Ashland had been more than Alphard Black's personal assistant. She'd been the public face of all his vast dealings in America, specifically Texas and New York, running all his businesses in the States with her unique mix of sharp mind, quirky humor and no nonsense loyalty. And when Alphard Black 'died' she inherited all of his American holdings, kept all the businesses afloat and all his projects and charities on track.

No one guessed she also continued to live with her very much still alive husband, raising his then almost adult daughter at their remote estate in the Texas hill country.

And if Adhara Ashland Black didn't exist for all the movers and shakers flowing around her now, then she certainly didn't exist to the more oddly dressed inhabitants in the room. The ones who looked like they'd stepped right out of various period piece movies. Ashland counted twelve wizards and one witch in the room so far. Either coincidence was enjoying a field day or these were the Death Eaters who had killed her parents. She was pulling for the Death Eater option.

Sipping at her champagne flute to hide the cruel smile that she couldn't quite contain, Ash turned away from the crowd.

And nearly walked smack into her oldest friend.

"Woho…" Chris Duncan grabbed her upper arm to steady her as she jerked backwards to avoid the collision. "No need to tackle me. I did what you wanted!"

His tone was joking and his smile couldn't have been bigger, but she knew what he was really saying—he'd smoothed things with the press, stopped the inquiry on her father's estate, and met with the museum board. All without knowing why she couldn't do it herself or why there was to be absolutely no mention of her name or existence.

His efficiency and unconditional support nearly made up for the guilt she felt in involving a Muggle in events that he wouldn't understand even if she could explain. But the Duncans were used to weird Black behavior. Chris' dad had been Alphard's main lawyer, his mother had been Beverly's best friend. And Chris had been Ashland's only friend to grow up knowing who her parents were and—if not why then at least—that it was important that no on else know.

"Yeah well, we'll see about that." She smiled right back at him. He nodded once, understanding the message behind her sarcastic teasing: we'll talk later, somewhere else. "What I really want to know is where the good stuff is." She raised her now empty flute. "Tell me the richies' yearly donations can't cover a decent bar with variety. Where's Jackie D when you need him?"

Chris laughed as he took her arm and steered her away from the elderly couple glaring at her. "Was that last bit really necessary?" He was still smiling, his cheeks pushing his glasses into his eyebrows and making the laugh lines on his forehead even deeper.

"Definitely…" Ashland watched the one witch—dressed in a flapper-like dress that would have won the prize at the Museum's annual Halloween costume gala—pass within inches of her as she answered her friend.

_Oh yes, it was necessary. I'm just another drunk society Muggle. Nothing special. Not a threat. Not worth noticing. Not connected to any wizards much less the Blacks. Not…_

Black eyes framed by lanky black hair stared into hers from a darker corner across the room.

…_not as invisible as I thought_. _And make that thirteen wizards_.

This one was the least conspicuously dressed of them all. Simple black suit, cut well, plain white shirt and black silk tie. Timeless. Perhaps a little understated here among the mass of well-dressed philanthropists and social elite out to celebrate the life of one of their finest—or richest. But easily overlooked. Dangerous.

The wizard's eyes never left hers as Chris continued to guide her towards the bar. Right before she had to finally turn her head forward or risk twisting her neck completely backwards, he sneered. Ashland felt the hate in the gesture from clear across the room and couldn't help but feel it was personal despite not recognizing this man at all.

Chris ordered them both another champagne while Ashland looked back to the corner where the wizard was still standing. The flapper-dress witch had joined him; they'd put their heads together and were whispering furiously. Though the wizard had the sense to not gesture wildly like the witch. When a small group of Muggles near them finally turned to look, the wizard grabbed the witch's arms to stop her and drew her further back into the corner's shadows.

Ashland needed to be near that corner.

"Still jet-lagged?" Chris handed her a fresh flute and followed as she began to weave through the crowd slowly to where she could hopefully hear the couple's argument.

"Nah. I'm used to the difference. By now." She was—the flight between Austin and New York was nothing after all the times she'd made it. "Mom and I made the trip once a month this past year." Ash gripped her flute's stem a little harder than necessary. The pain was at times almost unbearable. How could it possibly be that she'd never see her mother or father again?

They'd reached a bottleneck in her path to the witch and wizard. She'd chosen the wrong way, of course, and they were passing the exhibit of the evening—most of the crowd was standing in their path, waiting to get a good look at the Black Star. It wasn't just that tonight was the Star's debut—the unveiling of the largest known blue diamond in the world. No, the story behind the unveiling was what drew most of the people closer, hurrying to get a glimpse of the gem at the center of such controversy and intrigue. Because after spending eleven years and hundreds of thousands of dollars creating a room for a permanent exhibit around the Star, Beverly Ashland wouldn't make an appearance tonight. Her greatest passion's unveiling had become a memorial for her after the mysterious and highly talked about circumstances of her death.

Rumors buzzed around the group vying for a glimpse.

"No, she was married to him…"

"Montey said she was in debt up to her ears…"

"It's karma come full circle—after all it's obvious she killed him all those years ago…"

"That curator's not right in the head, that's all I'm saying…"

"An affair? Surely not…"

"Why else would he have left it all to her…"

Ashland swatted each clip of conversation away as it zipped past her. She'd been hearing it all night—from the bizarre to the eerily almost on target theories about why her mother had died. Who she'd really been. How she'd really come to inherit Alphard Black's fortune. It meant nothing. Could hurt no one anymore. So she ignored it all.

But Chris' grip on her arm tightened every step they took through the crowd. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw that his generous lips had almost completely disappeared into a thin line—the sure sign that he was about to explode. When a woman they passed outright called Beverly Ashland a gold-digging whore, Ash had to haul Chris out of the crowd before he could turn around and pummel the woman to within an inch if her life.

"How can you stand to hear that garbage?" His eyes were slits, his hands gripping both of her arms above the elbows so she couldn't look away. She'd purposefully avoided discussing her mother yet with him because she knew the pain he was in. And she could barely handle her own, much less handle seeing her best and oldest friend, the man she loved most in the world, hurting just as bad.

"Because I know it means nothing. These people are nothing. You know that, Chris."

His fingers dug a little deeper into her arms and Ash welcomed the discomfort. "I know that!" His voice was a hiss, but it might as well have been a shout. "That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!"

"I know that!" There were tears in her eyes now, tears that Ashland refused to shed in front of these people.

"I know you know that!"

"And I know you know that we both know!"

Chris pulled her to him and hugged her so hard that she couldn't breath. "As long as we have that clear."

She allowed the embrace to go on a little longer than she necessarily should have. If she had her way, she'd stay in his arms the rest of the night. The rest of her life. But Chris had never grown out of the older brother act. And the days that Ashland let herself be the pining victim of unrequited love were long over.

Plus there was a witch and wizard in a corner that might know a thing or two about her parents' murders.

Ashland gently pushed back from Chris. "I can't do this here."

"Tonight, Ash."

"Not here and not now."

"Tonight."

"Chris…"

"Things didn't go well with the museum board, Ashland…"

"What do you mean they didn't go…"

"Mr. Duncan," a tall man dressed in a perfectly tailored blue suit had joined them off to the side of the crowd surrounding the diamond. He gave Ashland the once over with his arched eyebrows and icy blue eyes. She was just about to give him a once over of his own with her fist when he turned his back to her and continued to speak to Chris. "They're ready for you."

Chris' laugh lines smoothed until they disappeared and Christian Harrison Duncan the Fourth, heir to the Duncan firm, stood before them. Ashland liked to think she could pull the whole haughtier-than-thou routine with the best of them and fit in with the circles she'd spent her whole life watching her parents move in. But she had nothing on Chris Duncan.

"Thank you. Gregory Kane, curator of the Star exhibit meet," Chris waved his hand towards Ash. "Leslie White, my date." His warm brown eyes turned indifferent as they flicked towards her behind his glasses. He patted her cheek as he walked past her. "Stay put and try not to stick your foot in your mouth."

Kane's derisive smile as he raked her once again with those blue eyes said mission accomplished. She was no one to yet another person in the room. Floozy date of the Duncan brat. Excellent. Rumors would circulate, cover was established.

Off to see the wizards.

OoOoOoOo

At first he'd thought it was all a terrible dream. The Department of Mysteries hadn't happened, the veil hadn't granted his fondest wish, and Sirius Black was in fact alive and parading around this twice-cursed American city in drag.

But no man could pull of a dress like that—black and slinky, a simple cut that screamed wealth and power to the person smart enough not to be tricked by the imposters like the rhinestone encrusted creation standing next to her. No, that was a woman eyeing the crowd with complete disdain and barely concealed anger over the rim of a champagne glass. A woman with black hair piled in soft curls on the head so that it showed off Bellatrix's swan neck. With the unmistakable aristocratic features that had haunted his dreams in the form Narcissa Black when he had been a teenage boy too stupid to know that elegance did not mean beauty.

And then the glass came down from her lips and she'd run into a man and she'd smiled _his_ irritating, careless smile and she'd laughed _his_ barking laugh—he heard it over the crowd, that sound that had plagued his dreams as well. Even after they'd all grown up and pranks and bullying were the past…

Severus Snape hated her instantly. Whoever _she_ was.

So it had been like old times, no effort required, when her eyes had met his across the room and his sneer had slipped into place. And then Urien Goyle—whose placement on this mission Severus considered Voldemort's true punishment for his interfering with Malfoy (the Cruciatus was mercy in comparison)—had appeared, gesticulating like a windmill in a tizzy, wearing that ridiculous excuse for a Muggle outfit. He'd had to pull her into the next room before Mystery Woman bore down upon them.

He'd sent Urien off to find her husband and Merlin only knew if they could keep from drawing too much attention to themselves as they figured out the security in place in the back of the building. In the meantime Severus returned to exhibit hall's shadows, watching Mystery Woman look for him and noticing that she'd marked every wizard in the room. Her eyes never rested, skipping from wizard to wizard around the room in a seemingly random pattern that it took Severus four complete passes to break.

Lestrange, Nott, Gordon, Rankin, Fawcett, Munch, Tims, Malfoy, Grayson, Kiplinger, Underwood. He could almost hear her counting in her head, reaching ten and then pausing, hoping to see eleven and twelve and the witch, and then starting over. Her survey incorporated the Goyles as they rejoined the others in the Diamond's room but she never found him as she listened idly to the speaker drone on about Beverly Ashland, the Muggle who tried to be a Black.

Severus sneered at the thought. What he would give to still have access to Grimmauld Place and be able to tell Celaeno Black's portrait just what her very own brother-in-law had left the family for. To give her something new to moan and scream about. Surely the Order members would thank him for adding some variety to the old prune's routine.

Severus frowned, his mind skipping over the small snag in his enjoyment of that particular fantasy. The only time an Order member would ever thank him again would be on the other end of a wand and to die. And that was as it should be. Only a sentimental, Hufflepuff fool would wish it otherwise.

Where would they all be now, if it had been otherwise? …_Coward…_

He slowly relaxed his hand where it had been clenching his wand in his pocket—Oh how he hated them all—and moved a little further back into the shadows. She was moving this way as she surveyed the room, adjusting her position to the wizards as they roamed around the diamond on their assignments.

Draco joined him, discreet enough that Snape didn't feel like hexing the idiot's head off as per usual. "The Goyles say we're ready. The wards are down at the apparition point. Fawcett got the curator's hairs."

"Then we wait and fade away to the positions when the crowd disperses."

"I still think I should be paired with you. Urien is a bumbling fool…"

"Because you've never _bumbled_ a job. Have you Draco?"

The boy shut his mouth, turned on his heal and stalked away with enough obvious disdain to do Lucious proud.

Mystery Woman had hit another stumbling block on her search for him—a tall thin woman in her early sixties dressed just as tastefully and obviously a friend. More of that ever-cursed laughter floated over the crowd to suffocate him.

"Now that is a Muggle I wouldn't mind baiting, hey Severus?"

Snape shrugged Lestrange's arm off his shoulders and stepped a foot away. He loathed the Lestrange brothers. "If she's a Muggle, Rabastan, then I'm still a Potions Professor."

"According to the crowd she's the Duncan boy's slut." Rabastan nodded towards the platform where the speaker droned on. "I bet twenty galleons she's as Muggle as they come."

How could the fool not see she had Black written all over her. He was Bellatrix's brother-in-law for Merlin's sake. "Look at her—don't you see it?"

"I see a throat made for screaming…you sure we don't have a little time we could squeeze in a good revel…"

"I swear if any of you so much as touch a Muggle before we have the Star and are well back home, I will make you wish the Dark Lord had gotten hold of you instead. I'll not take the blame for another mission gone foul."

"Right. Sure. Incentive to come back and tour the States again…" Rabastan wondered off as he spoke, and Snape turned back to see that Mystery Woman was leaving the party on the arm of the 'Duncan Boy.'

Maybe Lestrange was right. Maybe she was just another Muggle slut. Maybe he was still just as obsessed with his hate as he had been before the veil. But he had to admit it felt good. To have a physical focus again. Hating hadn't been nearly as much fun since Sirius had decided to die.

OoOoOoOo

Joanna Duncan had always made Ashland laugh. It felt good to laugh now.

"Well at least I still have the roses. Kraken's off to doggie boot camp first thing Monday morning though. You ought to come see him before he leaves. Really, dear, Christian and I would love for you to come down for breakfast tomorrow…"

"I can't Jo—I'm sorry. I'm leaving for England tomorrow."

"So soon? But isn't there a lot that needs doing…" she leaned in so that no one could overhear her. "Christian said that they'd be burying your father Sunday…"

"I have to go…he didn't want me to wait."

"You Blacks…I swear I'll never understand a thing you do." Joanna hugged her, and Ashland clung as though she were hugging her mother once again. "Well of course, dear. You'll let us know if there's anything you need. I know you asked Chris to take care of a few things but Christian and I are here for you as well."

"I know…"

"Did either of you even listen to my fine, eloquent speech?" Chris kissed his mother's cheek as he joined them. "I worked for hours on it."

"Well, Chris dear, I'm sure it was adequate baloney, but we had other things to discuss."

Ashland had to laugh at the frown on Chris' face. "Mom, who uses the word baloney?"

"I do."

"Of course you do. I have to steal Ash away…she's off tomorrow and we have to talk…"

"I'll leave you children to it."

Another round of hugs and Chris led the reluctant Ashland to the curator's office by way of the coatroom to get her purse.

They were barely through the door when Ashland rounded on him, choosing the topic before Chris could bring up her parents again. "What do you mean it didn't go well with the museum board?"

"It's a no go with the Star, Ash. Even Dad looked at the agreement between the estate and the Museum. The diamond is a permanent exhibit for at least ten years."

"Even if the Blacks want it back. We could say it was just for a few days."

"Even if. Apparently Alphard wanted it worded that way and Beverly saw it done. Of course that was nearly twelve years ago when the proposals first went up."

"More weird Black…baloney." Ashland kicked the office chair behind the curator's desk. It spun and rolled across the room.

"You're sure Alphard wanted you to take it…"

"Oh, heck yeah, he did. I knew it wasn't going to be easy." Ash pulled open her purse and took out blueprints, unfolded them and pressed them flat on the curator's desk. "I really hoped I wouldn't have to do this."

"Do what?" Chris leaned over the desk and looked at the prints. "Ashland…are those of the Museum?"

"Yup."

"You're going to take the Star."

"It's mine. It's my father's and he wanted it to go to England. Therefore it will be on the plane with me tomorrow. No ifs ands or buts."

"No doubt." Chris stared at her as she went over the prints one more time.

There really wasn't a reason to, she'd memorized them on the plane after she'd read through—or stumbled through—Regulus' journal. But it was only 11:30. The party ended at midnight. The security shift didn't change until 2. She had to do something while she waited.

"You have a plan, Ashland? For the guards. The security. It's state of the art—Alphard saw to that too."

"Of course I do." She stepped away from the desk and unsnapped the catch hidden in the slight gather of material on her left hip. She twirled the skirt off, leaving just the black leggings beneath. And the black tank that had also been the dress' top. "He wouldn't have asked me to do it if he didn't think I could."

"You knew it would play out this way…"

"I had a hunch." She kicked the heels off, aiming at Chris' head.

He ducked with practiced ease. "It's dangerous Ash."

"Most things are, Chris." She pulled socks of the dress' material—with texture on the bottom for traction—from her purse and sat on the floor to pull them on her feet.

"We just lost Beverly and Alphard. Are we going to lose all the Blacks at once?"

So there it was. The topic he'd wanted to bring up since she'd landed in New York.

"I'm going to England. Not dying."

"Ashland…"

"You wanna make me cry Chris? Right now, before I have to have my act together and pick through some of the most high tech security I've ever seen…"

"No, Ash. I don't."

"Then distract me with something besides my parents being dead. We got hours to go here."

"Mom tell you about Kraken eating the hydrangeas?"

OoOoOoOoOo

This whole "get the Star to Dumbledore" thing was dangerous. And if Alphard had still been alive at that very moment, Ashland would have wrung his neck.

The security team was in mid-shift—the corridor outside the Star's new wing was empty. She was halfway across it and in front of the door to the Star's exhibit when she saw the curator walking towards her. He made eye contact and they both came to a screeching halt.

"Mr. Kane." Ashland smiled, watching his blue eyes and hoping they didn't wander like before. She even worked a little adapted Occlumency, picturing herself and projecting that image—suggesting that he only see the dress she'd been wearing earlier. Not hard considering how closely it resembled what she was wearing now.

"Uh," he blinked at her. A surprised and nervous gesture, none of his earlier disdain or harassment in his eyes. It was as if he didn't recognize her at all.

"Leslie White…we met at the party…Duncan pulled some strings, got me back in. I left my purse in the exhibit hall. Can you believe it?"

He obviously couldn't. He just stared at her, one hand clenched in his pocket. "I…forgot…my office…Excuse me…"

"Of course." Ashland narrowed her eyes at him as he turned and walked back the way he'd come. She'd come straight from the curator's office. The opposite way. No recognition, no disdain, just confusion, going the wrong way. "Hell."

All her plans shattered as fear gripped her. Polyjuice—the Death Eaters were here. Were they coming or going? She dashed through the doorway and into the exhibit hall just as the 'curator' whirled back around, wand pointed at her, and let a reductor curse fly. It blew a chunk out of the doorway, raining wood and plaster down on her as she slid across the marble floor. And right through the laser security grid.

She'd meant to apparate past that—had taken down her father's wards in the exhibit hall itself just an hour before, leaving the ones around the hall and the Museum in tact in case the Death Eaters did decide to show up. She didn't want these people to have an easy time getting in or out.

The alarm tripped, but she'd already aimed a reductor of her own at the glass case surrounding the Star. No sense in discretion now. It shattered just as the curator and another wizard in full Death Eater garb ran in through the cloud of settling debris.

Death Eater pointed his wand at Ash and yelled, "Crucio."

She disapparated before the curse hit her, reappearing directly next to the Star's case. The blue diamond was breathtaking. Ash had overdone the redactor, taking out the lighting her mother had worked months on to get just right so that it sparkled through the facets, making the Star look alive. A thousand different shades of blue. Now the Star lay quiet, a blue so deep it was black, resting in the curve made by the flexing wings of the bronze eagle statue beneath it. She shrunk it, eagle and all, with a silent wave of her wand just as the remaining Death Eaters and the Security team raced into the room, took one look at each other and began to fire. Ashland spared a moment of grief for all of her mother's hard work being destroyed by the bullets and spells bouncing around the room. And then threw up a shield as a stray blasting curse nearly took her down.

She plucked the star from the velvet cushion the statue sat on and tucked it in the pocket hidden on her right hip just as the floor beneath them shuddered. The marble cracked in half, exposing the cement and pier and beam structure beneath.

Ashland had a moment to think someone had really gotten carried away with the blasting and reducting when the floor gave way completely, sending the security team and those wizards who didn't think fast enough to the lower levels beneath.

Ashland disapperated again as the floor fell out from beneath her, appearing on the solid flooring in the doorway to the exhibit hall just behind the two Death Eaters smart enough to try apparating as well. Their masks were torn, covered in so much dust they bumped into each other as they tried to run down the hallway ahead of Ashland.

They paused long enough to rip the masks off. It was the flapper-witch and the wizard who'd sneered at Ash from across the party.

The woman went left; the man went right. Ashland followed Sir Sneers-a-Lot.

Through the halls, down a flight of stairs and then another to the lowest levels of the Museum.

The basement halls turned and forked like a damn maze, but Ash kept her ear trained on the sound of his boots running in the distance. Suddenly she raced into an open room filled with crates and artifacts swaddled in cloth. She froze, turning slowly to take in the entire room. Silence. No footsteps, no heavy breathing.

She saw the yellow light from the corner of her eye and silently threw up a shield while throwing herself to the ground. The curse flew where her head had been, glancing off the upper boundary of her shield and arching away to spilt a crate wide open. Ashland rolled as soon as she hit the ground and ended in a crouch, wand and eyes pointed in the direction the curse had come from.

The wizard stepped around the huge square covered in cloth that he'd been hiding behind and took two steps closer to Ashland before stopping to stare at her, wand loose at this side.

"Not a Muggle? I shall enjoy spending Lestrange's Galleons. What then?" His hand was gripping his wand, tighter and tighter as he spoke. "Have we stumbled upon a dirty little secret? So dirty, it's _black_?" He spat out the last word. He didn't raise his wand, tried to still project that he didn't consider her a threat. But that anger—hatred—was back in his eyes.

Ashland stood slowly. "What do you want with the Star?"

"Do you have it?"

"Why do you care?"

"Do you expect me to answer that?"

Ash smiled, so Sir Sneer had a sense of humor. "Do you think answering questions with questions is the most effective way to distract me from what I want to know?"

He raised his wand. "Oh no."

Before Ashland's eyebrows could even crease in confusion images rushed to the front of her mind.

_She closed Regulus' journal, wiping the tears from her eyes. She'd been so wrong to hate him after all he'd done to keep the Star away from Voldemort… Chris' rapier flicked her and she threw hers away in frustration. She was too distracted to fence… dad was so weak barely able to breath as he struggled to get the words out "and take… it… to Dumbledore… as well."… "I sometime's wish Sirius had found us"…Something was very wrong. "Mother! Mother where are you"…blood and screams and heels clicking on marble…_

_I don't think so…_Ashland's mind pushed back expelling this bastard from her thoughts and running with practiced force back across the link into his…

_A black-haired boy, glasses askew, blood and dirt covering him, hatred in his eyes, "Kill me like you killed him, you coward—"_

_Rage filled her, rage and pain beyond bearing, "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!"_

Ashland flew across the room, crashing into a pedestal that held a vase sloppily draped with a cloth. The vase teetered and fell, raining porcelain shards around Ash as she shook her head to clear it. She was panting, and as she stared up through the hair that had come down and was now covering her face, she saw the wizard similarly sprawled at the foot of the crate his curse had splintered earlier.

How could she have been so lax with her shields? Her father had trained her in many disciplines, but none more than Occlumnecy. It was essential to their survival that no one be able to discover who they were, and being the only ones who knew, Beverly and Ashland had learned to guard that knowledge in their minds at all costs.

She hadn't been expecting an attack like that—and her stupidity shocked her. Granted she was under a lot of stress and she'd never had to face a mental attack while engaged in a real duel, but that's what she'd trained for.

_He's good. Better than any Legilimens I've ever been around. _

It was a fact. But that didn't excuse her allowing him that far into her mind. She was comforted slightly by the fact that she penetrated his mind at all—little that she did see.

He was breathing as heavily as she was, both of them eyeing each other through their hair and refusing to move until the other did. It was a truce of a kind—I'll let you get you're breath back if you let me get mine.

But it was short-lived. Suddenly he was levering himself to his feet. Ashland stood as fast as she could, wincing at the volume of his voice.

"Regulus." His voice was cruel, almost hysterical and definitely had an edge of disbelief. "Regulus! Oh I wish I'd seen Black's face when he met his little brother beyond the Veil—he must be so proud. I bet they're slapping each other on the back as we speak—wherever it is they ended up. I'm hoping it's hell, but we just can't always get what we want, can we?"

Ashland was shaking—and it wasn't because her head was ringing with pain. She'd never met her cousins in the flesh, but after hearing stories about Sirius from her father and reading Regulus' story in his own words on the plane up to New York, Ashland felt like she knew them. That little bit of her that believed in family, that maybe even wanted to be acknowledged as a Black, loved them. And she didn't understand who this man was or what exactly he meant, but she understood his tone and his disrespect. His sneering words made her want to throttle him with her bare hands.

"What veil?" She took a step towards him as she asked and his snort cut her short.

His eyes narrowed. "Out of the loop?"

Ashland shook her head once. Her stomach felt full—cold.

"Where's Sirius?" Her voice was a whisper. If this man knew where her cousin was…there was a chance she could still know him, meet him. Her father had loved him despite what Sirius had done. Who were the Potters to her? She wanted to meet the boy who'd made her father's eyes light up whenever he regaled them with stories of Sirius' pranks. Even if for a minute. Even if it was dangerous. Even if there was a chance he might betray her.

"Where? Who knows? But he's not coming back. The mangy mutt finally got what he deserved. Dead like his brother. Like all of them except the wolf and the rat."

And just like that, the little part of her that wanted to be a recognized Black broke. Only the idea of Sirius had kept it alive since her mother had died. "When? How?"

"When his arrogant little godson set out to save the world again, the mongrel ran to save him. And right into his cousin Bellatrix and a well-placed curse. I wish more than anything I'd been there to see it."

The ice in her stomach was spreading upwards, into her throat so that she could barely speak. Godson… "Godson?"

"Harry Potter…you really are an ignorant one aren't you?"

Potter… "Why would Sirius save Potter when…"

"When he betrayed his parents? Because he was innocent of that, if nothing else."

He took pleasure in saying it—Ashland saw that much in his hateful black eyes. She tried to keep the pain from showing in her face, but the image of her father, lying on the couch dying, wishing that Sirius had found them so he could ask him why. It broke her heart.

"Oh, Dad." The whisper slid from her mouth before she could stop it.

"Yes—and who would that be. Whose bastard are you? Arcturus'? And here I'd rejoiced that the Blacks were dead."

Ashland didn't know who this man was. She didn't care. But she did know one thing: she was tired. Tired of hiding. Of losing those she cared about or who meant something to her to these people who knew more about the magical world than her. Who used her ignorance as a weapon against her. She was a witch as well. And if she had her way, Voldemort himself would hear her name before long and this Bellatrix and whoever killed Regulus. And they'd know who was coming for them. That they hadn't destroyed the Blacks yet.

"I'm no bastard. I'm a half-blood. And proud of it, you sneering little greaseball." She approached him, stopping when they were toe to toe, his wand tip poking her chest, her wand tip poking his.

Ash dropped a mocking little curtsy, her wand never budging. "Adhara Ashland Black. Only daughter of Alphard and Beverly Black. Pleased to meet you Sir Sneers-a-Lot."

He pressed his wand further into her chest, trying to make her take a step back, but Ash refused to move. They stared at each other for several long, silent minutes. Then suddenly, so quickly Ash stumbled forward, he stepped back dropping his wand.

"Funny. I'm a half-blood too. We should form a club."

"Not every day I meet a Death Eater who brags about being anything but pure-blood."

"I could say the same, Black. Toujours Pur." He gave a mocking little flourish of a bow to match her earlier curtsey.

"Touché." She thought he might at least crack a smile at that witty comeback, but he just continued to stare at her. And sneer, of course. "Is your face stuck that way? Didn't take mom seriously when she warned that could happen, did you?"

Still nothing.

Ash dropped out of the staring contest and healed the cuts on her arm from the vase. "Do you…" She threw up another shield, and just caught the hex he'd hurled her way. And sent one straight at him.

Which he of course blocked.

So they dueled—Ash wasn't sure how long—but it was a hard fought battle against a well-matched opponent. Neither one spoke, relying exclusively on non-verbal spells and even the occasional wandless one as well. His skill impressed her, and she sensed as she tried several times to push against his mental shields that she impressed him as well.

His frustration matched hers—she read that mental message loud and clear and knew it came from that fact that he, like her, relied on using Legilimency to gauge an opponents moves and intentions—heighten reaction time and retain an edge. Neither one was able to gain that advantage against the other.

Finally, with sweat running into her eyes, Ash leveled a reductor curse—bolstered by her mounting frustration and annoyance—right at his stomach. It shattered his shield, losing much of its power, but slammed into him all the same, sending him skidding across the floor on his back.

He was still when his body stopped, but she approached him warily. And for good reason—as soon as her shadow fell on him, his hand twitched at his side and Ash's feet slipped out from under her as she landed hard on her butt.

"Umhff…" She sat, rubbing her right wrist, which had bent at a bad angle when she used it to soften her fall.

"Don't get too confident, Black. Or you'll end up just like your dear little Sirius."

"You weren't going to kill me," she tapped her temple with one finger, "I can tell that much at least." Under the frustration, anger and hate that had permeated the duel she'd sensed his intentions. He wasn't out for blood, he was testing her. Why?

"Your cousin," he spit out the title along with a bit of blood, "made a point to shun his Slytherin heritage. To place all of his stock in Gryffindor courage, to be blinded by emotion and stupidity. He was weak. Using excuses like honor and courage to let his anger and fear and hatred and…love…run rampant without restraint or care for what needed to be done."

She didn't get where he was going with this. But as he lifted his hand so that his wand stayed on the ground beside him untouched, she did the same and waited patiently for him to get to whatever point he was going for.

"So he made mistake after impulsive mistake that led not just to his death but to the destruction and abandonment of those he claimed to love so much." He swallowed. "So what are you, Adhara Black? Are you the same emotional fool, or do you just look like him?"

She let his words settle into her, hearing what he was really asking.

"You could be one of the Death Eaters that killed my parents, and here I am giving you the benefit of the doubt. You don't know what the hell I am, yet you're feeling me out for something—a confession, a cry for help. I don't know. I mean, we just dueled. No holds barred. One of us could have killed the other, intentionally or not. And now you're sitting here—or lying here pretty much a broken wreck thanks to my god-like skill with a wand—waxing philosophic on me with a bunch of mumbldeygook about Slytherdors and Grifferins…"

He actually winced at the maligning of the house names and Ash had to laugh before ranting on.

"…Here's the deal, Sneers-a-Lot. Hogwarts' neat little compartmentalization of character traits means about as much to me as whether or not you'll be able to stand once you get your breath back. I'm who the hell I am, and what that has to do with lions and snakes is beyond me. So you just go on and analyze what you see now and what you've seen already and come to your own conclusions. But remember this, you're gonna have to give me a reason to trust you as well. You deciding I'm worthy of your trust doesn't mean I trust you. I don't even know your name. Or why you want us to trust each other. So whatever it is you're wanting to tell me, just decide to spit it out or not. We'll go from there, my fellow proud half-blood, and see where the dice fall."

He blinked. That was all she got from him. Even his sneer was gone. She didn't push at his shields, but she could feel his confusion and surprise close to the surface of his thoughts.

"Whatever _it_ is, you won't be able to take it to Dumbledore."

Ash winced—he'd seen way more than she should have let him see in her mind. "What—are you gonna stop me?"

"No. He's dead."

Ash's heart froze. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

He seemed to hear her question, or at least her despair and that sneer was back. His hand gripped his wand again and Ash had hers in hand and trained on him as he drew breath to speak.

"Tell Potter that Malfoy misses him." He disapparated, his last word echoing slightly in the cavernous room.

Ash poked at where the anti-disapparition wards should have been and found nothing. The Death Eaters had done their own remodeling during the party.

She chocked back a laugh and let herself fall slowly backwards so that she was lying on her back.

"Can anyone please tell me what the hey nonny just happened here?" Sliding a hand into her pocket, Ash clenched her fist around the shrunken statue and Star. "No theories? No one?"

She sighed. "Me either."

_Dumbledore is dead_.

"God _bless_ it all."

OoOoOoOo

BANG BANG BANG!

Ashland moaned and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. "With the banging…" She was back asleep before she could finish the thought.

BANG!

"Ash!"

BANG!

"Ashland!"

BANG!

"Adhara!"

She flew out of bed, across the room, wand aimed at the door, legs tangled in the sheets so that she could barely stand straight. No one knew that name except the Greaseball, her parents, and "Chris?"

"Ashland! Open the damn door!"

Ash untangled herself and put her eye to the peephole. "Why do I have a scar in the shape of a giraffe on my ass?"

"Because I was a fifteen-year-old idiot that left beer bottles lying around in chairs and you were and still are a clumsy nutcase who flops down so hard when she sits that we're lucky there are any chairs left standing in the world."

She opened the door and he pulled her into his arms so fast, she didn't have time to take a breath before she was shoved against his chest.

"Suffocating!"

At her mumbled protest, he pushed her back to arms length. "You're…" His hands were on her face, pushing her hair back tracing her jaw. Goosebumps broke out over her arms. "You're…" He frowned. "You're fine."

"Don't sound so happy about it."

"The papers. The news. How are you not hurt?"

"I'm just that good." _At healing charms_. Ash was unbelievably glad she hadn't let her self get into bed before healing her scrapes and bruises. Chris would not have liked the way she looked last night. But there was still that one cut on her back that she hadn't been able to reach…

"Why weren't you at breakfast like we planned?"

_Well, hell_. "I didn't wake up."

"I see that."

Ash pulled herself away from him, distinctly uncomfortable with him still holding her now that she'd remembered she was only wearing a nightgown. Slipping on her robe, she glanced at the clock. 9 am. "Egh. I am late. Sorry 'bout that."

He watched her out of narrowed eyes as if expecting her to fall over at any moment. "Are you sure you don't need the hospital?"

"I'm golden." She hid her flinch as the robe brushed against that cut she'd missed. Her aches and pains weren't all that bad, but she was damn tired. Four short hours of confused and demoralizing dreams—centered around that fact that she now had no clear path ahead of her—had drained her. She was more tired now than before she went to sleep.

_Dumbledore's dead. What the hell do I do now_?

She shook her head, earning another concerned look from Chris.

"Well, are you up to breakfast? It wasn't that crowded downstairs when I left."

"Sure."

Which is how she found herself, fifteen minutes and a quick shower later, out in the bright morning sun at the hotel's outdoor café, squinting behind her sunglasses, listening to Chris read the list of suspects and the damage report from her night's work.

The waiter slid her tea in front of her and Ash sighed with relief. "Remind me never to promise you I'll meet for breakfast. Ever again. I'm more of a spontaneous gal anyway. Promises are tricky when you never know when you'll need to sleep after blowing up half a building and chasing evil villains."

"That hard of a night, huh?"

Ash stared at Chris. "You just read out loud that half the ground floor of the Museum has collapsed. How smooth do you think it all went off?"

"You look unscathed to me." Chris smiled at her over the paper. Maybe she should have let him see her cuts and bruises. Where was a sympathy card when you needed it?

"There _is_ this one cut on my back…." She was twisting around to point, unable to keep a bit of a whine out of her voice.

Chris patted her on the head. "I just like to hear the sweet sound of you annoyed in the early morning."

"Bless you for that." She took a sip and mumbled so he could barely hear her, "Sadist."

"The question is, did you get it? Because someone did." He pointed to the front page headline, _Star Stolen…Ashland Mystery Gets Blacker_

"Who makes up that sh…"

Chris shook the paper impatiently and Ash got back to the topic.

"Chris. I wouldn't be sitting here, casually sipping tea if I hadn't gotten it. We'd be pow-wowing up in my room right now figuring out what cavalry to call."

He nodded. "Says here that the security cameras were destroyed. That's a bright spot."

"You're taking this awfully calmly. In fact, you've taken everything I've said, done or asked you to do since I got here awfully, awfully calmly and without a single question. Which is beyond me. I'd be scratching your eyes out for answers right now if I was as in the dark as you are."

"I love you. I trust you. I will do anything for you."

Ash's cup clattered against the saucer as she dropped it. "I'm sorry. I think the early hour has made me delusional."

"9:30 is hardly early…"

"Eh, eh eh!" she waved her hands quickly over her head. "Rewind. Play."

"I love you. I trust you…"

"You'll do anything for me. Yeah. I though that was it." Ash's stomach fluttered before reality tied it in a painful knot. _He's not serious_…_is he…he looks serious…he loves you like a brother…_

Chris had folded the paper and placed it on his plate. His full attention was on her now and his eyes were as serious as they could be. "When do you leave?"

"9 pm. Tonight."

He took her hand. "Ashland, I…"

"You can't come with me Chris. And I can't tell you anymore than I have."

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She wanted to cry. "It's for your own good. It's not safe…"

Chris pulled her to her feet and into his arms.

Ash turned her face into his shirt, her words coming out slightly muffled. _Now or never, Girlie._ "It would kill me for you to be hurt over this." She raised her head and looked him in the eye. "I love you too much."

He smiled his wide smile that pushed his glasses up and made the laugh lines she adored so deep. "How about we forget breakfast and spend the day pow-wowing up in your room anyway."

"There _are_ a few details you could help me work out. Strictly business—of course."

"Strictly."

He kissed her, softly. And if she hadn't had the dad's-unfinished-business and vengeance-left-undone problems still hanging around, she could have died happy then.

OoOoOoOo

They'd start calling the first class passengers any minute, but Ash still had things she wanted to say to Chris. There'd never be enough time to tell him all that she wanted to and she had no idea where to start.

In the end, he started for her.

"Forgive me." He was holding her tightly, his arms around her waist, their foreheads touching.

"For what?"

"Waiting so long to be with you. I have wanted you—have loved you—since, well since the beginning if I'm honest with myself. But I didn't realize it until you scared me into my right mind. I never thought I'd be grateful for that jackass George Wood."

"Oh God. Don't ever say that name—the shame the horror." She stuck out her tongue and Chris laughed. She loved the way his chest vibrated against her when he laughed. "Can you imagine me married to him now…ergh."

"No." It was a whisper and deadly serious.

"Took you long enough, didn't it." There were tears in Ash's eyes—she tried to stop them but she just couldn't. She'd never wanted him to know that he'd hurt her all these years. But she was just so happy now that he'd realized…they were tears of relief…really…

"I'm so sorry I hurt you." He kissed a tear off her cheek. "I love you, Addie."

"Oh I know." She smiled and rubbed her face across his shirt to dry her eyes. "You idiot."

"Guilty."

"Here." She pushed back from him and pulled a box from her purse. "I want to give you this."

He took it from her and opened it, staring inside for a solid minute before looking up into her eyes. "Are you proposing, Adhara Black."

"Oh shut up, jackass." She took the box from him and plucked the larger ring out. "This was my father's." She grabbed his hand and slid it on to his ring finger. It fit perfectly and Ash smiled at the surprised look on Chris's face.

"My hands are way bigger than your dad's."

_Well Chris, there's this thing called an instant-sizing charm and_…

"Not really. And it was always a little loose on him." She held his hand as she spoke and ran her thumb over the ring. It was a signet, platinum engraved with a fancy design that featured a rose, with a yellow stone at its center, and star, with a black stone at its center, side by side.

"And this was your mother's?" Chris had taken the other ring—a daintier twin of her father's—from the box as well as her hand and was sliding it on her ring finger. He kissed her hand and then held it between both of his. "I remember seeing them wear them."

"The cool thing about them is the legend behind them…"

"The legend?" His voice was appropriately intrigued—though maybe a little over done, no Tony's here—as he reeled her in by her hand and held her like he had earlier.

"Legend has it, that as long as two people who love each other are wearing these rings, all they have to do is make a fist and think about the one they love and they'll know instantly if they're ok. And if one needs the other, same thing. Make a fist, think real hard, and the other will know to come—and where—no matter how far."

"Is that so?"

She barely squeezed a whispered reply past the tears in her throat. "That's so."

_Because you see Chris, my father was really a wizard hiding from the rest of the magical world. He chose to love a woman who wasn't a witch and he was desperate to keep her safe so he made these rings and enchanted them to do just what I said… _

Chris titled her head back so he could see her eyes. "They're magic."

She smiled and mumbled against his lips as he kissed her, "Magic."

"We are now boarding first-class passengers for flight 46 to London Gatwick."

"That's me."

"You'll let me know when you land."

"I'll be in touch all the time… I'm not sure how long I'll be…"

"It doesn't matter. You're coming back. Just as long as you keep in touch." And he raised his hand showing her his ring.

She smiled, filled with hope. She would figure out what to do. And she would be back. Because she had a life here to live, just like her dad wanted for her. Knowing that, she could do anything.

They kissed again, and said I love you at the same time. Ashland turned then, laughing, and followed the line onto the plane.


	3. 2: From Disappointment

_**Chapter 2: **_

**From Disappointment**

Harry'd been standing in the silence and dark of his old bedroom at Grimmauld Place, listening to the portrait's snores, for half an hour, before he finally kicked himself into action.

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore's portrait."

Phineas Nigellus jerked, as though he'd really been asleep instead of ignoring Harry. "What did you say?"

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore's portrait."

"That is the most absurd…He can't travel into my portrait here and the school is closed, the Headmaster's office is locked to all by the Deputy Headmistress until a successor is named…"

"Look…"

"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Potter. Dumbledore may have put up with that nonsense, but I certainly will not. Why, if I had still been Headmaster while you were at Hogwarts, I can assure you things would have been quite different…."

"Yes, sir. I'm sure they would have been. But…please…could you just…ask him for me. Ask if there's a way for me to come see him."

"Of all the selfish…you know we heard things from Sir Nicholas about you not being able to cope whatsoever with death…"

"I have to see him, sir."

Phineas Nigellus continued to speak as though Harry hadn't tried to interrupt him. "Well, I certainly do not have to sit here and endure your cries for attention. I have heard you children banging around here over the past few days—what you have been playing at. And if all I can expect is you continuing to pop in constantly and badger me, I can assure you I will steer clear of this portrait for a good long while. To think, pestered until I must flee my own home…"

He waltzed out of the portrait and Harry sank down onto his old bed, head in hands.

_Well, so much for that idea. _

He should have just left, apparated back to Privet Drive with Hermione when Ron flooed back to the Burrow. But he'd been convinced last night when he'd stayed up pacing the drawing room that he had to go see Dumbledore's portrait and this was the best way he could figure to do it. He'd just have to think of something else…

"Well, hurry up. I do believe that you would sit around moping until the world ended if you were allowed to."

Harry looked up from his hands at the portrait, filled once again with the sneering ex-Headmaster. "What?"

"Come on, come on. He says he'd love to see you. Nearly took my head off for telling you otherwise. You would think he was still alive and Headmaster instead of just one of us."

"But how do I…"

"Do you own this house or not, boy? Don't even know what stops your own fireplace is connected to…I suppose you have not even taken the time to study or understand the wards built into the house. Generations of Black heritage and blood poured into the very foundations…"

"So…to make a long story short, I can floo to his office from here."

"How many times must I tell you not to interrupt me?" Phineas Nigellus placed his hands on his hips and flared his nostrils.

"A few more I guess."

"You are more impertinent than Siri…" Phineas Nigellus frowned and trailed off before muttering under his breath, "Yes. Well at least he was a Black." He sneered and turned to leave, yelling over his shoulder as he walked out of the frame. "Just hurry up. The grate is 'Dumbledore's Office.'"

Harry took his time walking down the stairs to the kitchen basement, not at all sure now that he knew how to get there that he actually wanted to step foot again in Dumbledore's office. He lit the fire with his wand, well beyond caring about the Decree for Underage Wizardry; he'd been practicing dozens of spells here and at Privet Drive over the past days with Ron and Hermione without a single Ministry Owl. Seemed the Ministry had bigger fish the fry these days.

He took a pinch of floo powder from the silver urn stamped with the Black crest on the mantle, threw it and stepped in, "Dumbledore's Office."

Harry rode the uncomfortable sensation and landed in Dumbledore's grate, shaking soot off his shoulders as he stepped out. Nothing had changed since he'd last stood here and listened to McGonagall and the other professors plan Dumbledore's funeral, and he didn't feel nearly as angry or upset as he thought he would have by that.

Until he found the courage to look at the portrait behind the desk and straight into Dumbledore's very awake face.

The nausea slammed into him so suddenly he nearly fell to his knees. Gripping the mantle, Harry stared back at the same twinkling eyes that had looked back at him from behind that same desk at the end of every catastrophe and adventure he'd had at Hogwarts. Only they hung on the wall now, just paint and canvas instead of flesh and blood.

"Hello, Harry."

He knew the instant the portrait spoke that he'd never seek out portraits of his parents or Sirius. He couldn't bear to see them like this. Hear them. Feel the queasy hope that was rising in him even though he knew beyond any doubt that this was not real.

"Professor." He tried to shove that hope down. _It's just a painting._

"I thought you might come and see me. I knew you would have questions. Though, I am afraid I do not know how much I will be able to help you. After all, as my fellows kindly remind me every few hours, I am merely a portrait."

He looked so real—the same half-moon glasses and crooked nose. Harry sighed, gathered his courage and pushed away from the mantle, taking a chair in front of the desk.

There was so much he wanted to ask; the questions were screaming in his mind: _Why did you trust Snape, why didn't you listen to me about Malfoy, why did you believe them, why did you leave me… _

But none of that mattered anymore. Not really. It was all done and the answers to those questions wouldn't bring Dumbledore back. There was only one real question that mattered now—was there anything in this room he needed in order to find the Horcruxes—and the answer to it could save him a lot of time and a lot of people their lives.

"Typical." Phineas Nigellus snorted from his frame. "He drags me from my sleep, badgers me until I travel all the way to my portrait here, where I am yelled at by a painting so young that the paint is barely dry, only to sit here like a landed fish, gaping at Dumbledore."

"Oh shut it Phineas, there are bigger worries here than you losing sleep." The witch who Dumbledore sent to St. Mungos when Voldemort's snake attacked Mr. Weasley stared down at Harry as she spoke. He thought he remembered her name….Dilys something.

"Yes." The wizard next to her, Everard if Harry remembered correctly, nodded. "I thought Dumbledore decided you should go back to those foul Dursleys."

Dilys' crossed her arms. "He debated on it for weeks, but decided you had to go back to them no matter how despicable they are, Mr. Potter."

Dumbledore spoke up, his hands steepled against his lips. "I must have. That _is_ where you are safest."

Harry made himself turn back to Dumbledore and look him in the eyes. "I did, sir. Hermione and I are both staying at Privet Drive."

"The Muggles are allowing that?" Phineas Nigellus was incredulous.

"They don't know she's there."

"Then what were you doing at Order Headquarters?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's not Headquarters anymore, sir. When you died…"

"Yes. Of course. The Fidelius Charm, among other things would be null."

"Yes, sir. We've…" Harry looked at the other portraits, a sudden doubt creeping into his mind. He knew that Phineas Nigellus didn't like him, and the others he didn't know at all. Who was to say that if someone working for Voldemort got into this office that the portraits wouldn't reveal what he wanted to say now: that they'd redone the Fidelius with Harry as Secret Keeper and planned on using Grimmauld as a base once they finished at Godric's Hollow?

Caution warred with his need to hear Dumbledore's opinion on their plan. But when Harry looked back up at his portrait, Dumbledore still stared down at him over two very whole, very healthy steepled hands. Neither one black and shriveled.

It's not real. Not real. And this isn't Dumbledore.

"We've just been messing around a bit. Seemed like a good place to…figure a few things out before Bill's wedding. …"

"But you are actually living at Privet Drive. Very good."

"Yes, sir. We were just at Grimmauld Place yesterday and today. And I just…it occurred to me last night that you might have had more notes. Or more penseive memories. Or things here that were important to the search. Something you meant to tell me but never got around to it…I couldn't sleep. The thought that a clue could be in such a simple place and I never thought to look for it…"

"Ah," Dumbledore blinked several times and a frown creased his forehead as though he were trying very hard to grasp a thought just out of reach. Harry had never seen a look even remotely like it on the Headmaster's face and the nausea crawled back up into his throat at the same time his heart clenched in pain.

Everard spoke up from his frame. "The memory you procured from Professor Slughorn completed the puzzle that Dumbledore had been working on with you, Mr. Potter. You knew as much as he did the night that the two of you watched the final memory."

"You're sure. He didn't leave notes with his thoughts on where the other Horcruxes were or what they were…"

"He feared that his notes could be found, Mr. Potter. Though he did debate jotting down some of his thoughts in the beginning, in case…well. He truly did tell you all he knew. Or at least all that we knew he knew. And once you viewed the memories, he replaced them in the safety of his mind or disposed of them. I am sorry."

"It's all right…I had to be sure. You know. Would have kicked myself if it had been that simple." Harry tried to smile, but the nausea was almost overwhelming now. He stood and walked over to press his forehead against the window.

"He was so proud of you, Mr. Potter." This time it was Dilys who tried to fill the silence. "For securing the last memory. He'd been trying to get it for so long."

Harry nodded without lifting his forehead off the glass and let the silence settle again. He was afraid to leave—this had been his last chance at simplicity. Outside this office, the search waited and it seemed like the world couldn't be any bigger at the moment, the Horcruxes any smaller.

But he'd known it couldn't have been that easy. Nothing in his life ever had been.

"Mr. Potter…"

Harry whirled, wand out and trained on where he'd heard his Head of House's voice before she could finish her sentence. McGonagall stood just inside the office door, and, when Harry just continued to stare her down, spread her hands out at her sides to show she didn't have a wand.

"Why did you make me Gryffindor Seeker?"

"You caught Neville Longbottom's rememberall during your first flying lesson."

Harry lowered his wand, smiling rather sheepishly. "Sorry Professor, I just…"

McGonagall drew her wand and pointed it at Harry before he could raise his again. His smile dropped off, his heart beat hard against his ribs.

"Where was the Headquarter for the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry's relief nearly knocked him over. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

McGonagall pressed her lips together, but lowered her wand. "You tripped the wards, but Dilys' portrait in the Hospital Wing explained why they allowed someone into the Headmaster's office." She paused, tucked her wand back into her robes. "I thought it best to give you a moment to talk…Did you get the answers you needed?"

Harry shrugged, tried to smile and failed.

"Yes. Well." She glanced at Dumbledore's portrait but Harry didn't follow her eyes, afraid to see Dumbledore still looking confused. "It can be a bit disheartening can't it? But the others are helpful, perhaps if you asked them…"

"I did. They helped. Really."

"Good. Good." She bustled all the way into the room, stopping several feet in front of Harry with a sigh.

"Portraits are just like that, Potter. They remember more about the lives and world they witness while hanging on the wall than the life their likeness lived. Though they do remember some things—for instance he tells me at least five times a day that you can take care of yourself. They can, however, interpret current events with their likeness' unique way of thinking and intelligence. So if you ever have problems you need help working through instead of questions that might prove too specific…"

"Oh. Good. Well that's…" Harry took a deep breath and spared a quick glance at Dumbledore who was beaming at them, twinkling eyes back, all traces of confusion gone. "I'll remember that."

McGonagall shook her head slightly, the corner of her lips quirking up. "I hope you'll also remember that I have a brain as well, Potter. I know one or two things, and so does just about every member of the Order—excluding perhaps Mundungus."

"Professor…"

"You're up to something, Potter. And I imagine it has everything to do with whatever you and Albus were up to before his death." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have it in you to let things alone with You-Know-Who, Harry."

"What…you think I just sit around thinking to myself, 'Hey how can I get Voldemort to try and kill me today?' Why is..."

"Oh, I know you don't seek him out, but I imagine you'll finish it."

That certainly shut him up. It was so close to what he and Dumbledore had said about the prophecy the night he died, that Harry flinched. McGonagall just gripped him tighter.

"We can help, Harry."

"I know, Professor." And he knew he'd need that help one day. "I just can't say anything right now."

She tsked and shook him gently before dropping her hand. "I swear, you're as bad as Dumbledore."

"Really, Minerva." Dumbledore's portrait chuckled.

"Oh please, Albus, you loved being vague and mysterious more than the socks you claimed to long for. And so, apparently, does Potter."

"And if I told you what needed to be done but that you had to stay out of it and let Harry take care of it, would you do as I said?"

"Certainly not. What kind of rubbish is that? Portraits! Sometimes I wonder if they've hung your frame straight, Albus."

Harry kept his face blank as Dumbledore winked at him over McGonagall's shoulder. She'd just confirmed his suspicion: the Order was not ready to hear what had to happen in order to defeat Voldemort. There'd been a small kernel of doubt eating at him since he'd refused to tell McGonagall right away what he and Dumbledore had been doing the night the Headmaster died. About the Horcruxes.

But it seemed this trip hadn't been a total waste and Dumbledore's portrait had been helpful after all. He was suddenly certain he was right in waiting to tell the Order everything, otherwise they wouldn't let him finish this the way he wanted to—the way it had to be done.

Plus, the other portraits had convinced him he wasn't overlooking something in this office. He could move forward with more confidence now.

McGonagall tilted her head, regarding him with the critical eye he'd come to dread over the past few years. "I understand, Potter, that you're back at the Dursleys."

"Yes, Professor."

"You'll be going to the Burrow for the wedding?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Excellent. I shall see you there. I'm quite excited about it actually. It will be a nice respite from all that's going on. And my sister's just sent me some new plaid that I've had made into dress robes…"

Most of the portraits had begun to snore as usual, though Dumbledore was chuckling slightly over McGonagall's shoulder.

She shook herself as if she'd just realized it was Harry she was talking to. "But enough of that…You are of course welcome to send me an owl if you need anything large or small."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Dilys tells me you flooed from Grimmauld Place."

"Yes, Professor."

"I'm not sure how safe that place is now, Potter. Dumbledore did most of the wards himself and as you know, many spells fail or become obsolete upon the caster's death."

"We're working it out Professor."

"I imagine you'll at least want a new Fidelius Charm and that's fairly advanced…"

Harry grinned, happy to have a reply ready. "Hermione's already taken care of that, Professor."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows but gave an approving jerk of her head. "I suppose I can put that worry from my mind then. Smartest thing you ever did, Potter, making friends with Granger."

His smile slipped a bit, old worries creeping to the front of his mind. "Probably not so smart on her part."

McGonagall gave him a look that said quite clearly she didn't find him amusing. "You should speak to Lupin. He helped Dumbledore with most of the wards and knew what all was used in the end."

"Thanks, Professor."

"And do me a favor, will you, Potter. Knock some sense into that fool. He's refusing to let me bring someone in to brew Wolfsbane for him since Snape…" her lips pressed together so tightly they turned white, and she looked away for a moment before turning back to Harry. "And now Slughorn's disappeared."

"What's happened to Slughorn?"

"Oh, nothing sinister, Potter. He's just gone back to ground since it's unlikely the school will reopen and You-Know-Who has begun more actively hunting people down."

Somehow Harry was not a bit surprised. "Where's Lupin staying for the full moon then?"

"Not here—he refuses to put us all at risk or some such nonsense and he absolutely will not stay in the Shrieking Shack. Though I suppose I don't blame him for that."

Harry didn't blame him at all on that one either, but he didn't see why he wouldn't let McGonagall get someone to brew the potion. And if he didn't want to put them all in danger then that meant… "So Order Headquarters is here."

McGonagall nodded slightly, her lips pressed in a thin line again.

Harry frowned, remembering a bit of what McGonagall said when she first walked in the office. "No one's hurt are they?"

"Of course not. Why?"

"Well, you said you were in the Hospital Wing…"

Her face softened a bit and the first hint of a real smile spread across her face. "I was helping Poppy with some inventory."

"Good." Harry looked up at Dumbledore who was sleeping along with the others now.

He felt the last bit of that hope that had risen when he first saw the painting wither and die. He wasn't sure why, but he'd still expected to look up just now and see Dumbledore waiting to say goodbye, to offer some parting words of ridiculousness. Maybe an 'oddment' or a 'tweak.' Not snoozing to cover the fact that he was eavesdropping just like the rest of the portraits.

"Well, I guess I should be getting back. The Dursleys don't know I've gone."

"Of course." McGonagall stepped aside and let Harry walk to the fireplace where he grabbed a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the flames.

Before he could step in, McGonagall spoke up. "You do understand that having placed a new Fidelius Charm on Grimmauld Place that you'll have to have the new secret keeper tell any Order Members again if you want them to be able to find you there or the house again."

"Yes, Professor."

When he didn't continue—or formally tell her that his 'base' was at Grimmauld Place as he expected she thought he would—she threw up her hands.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Fine. It was good to see you, Potter. You look well and I'm glad of that. I shall see you at the wedding." She walked to the office door and had it open before Harry finally spoke.

"Professor. Thank you. It was good to see you too."

She nodded and swept out of the office just as Harry stepped into the fire and said, "Grimmauld Place."

OoOoOoOoOo

Ashland hadn't been this disappointed since Santa forgot to bring her a pony for the fourth year in a row.

"Miss…" A wizard in robes a green so faded and worn they were gray blocked her path. "I's not safe to be wondering about alone. What you need is protection, and for that I'm just the wizard you need." He pulled his robe open from the left like some guy selling stolen watches in a movie. Dozens of charms hung in haphazard rows from the cloth. They were made mostly of various animal claws wrapped in hair. And one…

"You steer clear of me friend," Ash leaned forward so only this hack could hear her, pointing at the charm that had caught her eye. "Or else I'll tip the Auror's that have been snooping about that you're dealing with human-remain-based charms."

The wizard spat off to the side before scurrying away as quickly as he could without appearing flustered.

Her father had told her as many stories about Diagon Alley as he had about Hogwarts and Sirius. But these days it was nothing like he had described. In fact it better resembled his warnings about Knockturn Alley.

Ashland wound her way back from Gringotts towards the Leaky Cauldron—her new home-away-from-home. She passed the closed store fronts pasted over with Ministry signs and the shacks that had been hastily erected to sell protective charms and potions. They reminded her of the fireworks stands that went up every Fourth of July on the back roads in Texas. Temporary, gaudily painted. Only needed because of the particular season.

Only this season was war. And Ashland had come to the conclusion that she hadn't had a clue what Voldemort being back really meant. She'd been safe in America, but she'd also been blind—sheltered. There was no missing the big picture here.

She'd contacted Alphard's lawyers in London—they were making quiet inquiries into what sort of resources and Black family holdings she could get at without revealing her existence. She'd been at Gringotts this morning to draw some galleons out of the account the lawyers had finally established under her pseudonym. Leslie White was a wealthy woman.

All that was well and good and meant she was set up comfortably for the long haul. But as for _why_ she was here…well, things were going about as horribly as they could.

A week and nothing. No one knew where Harry Potter was. And if they did they weren't talking.

She'd gotten one bit of good news today—Perseus Jenkins, her father's main lawyer here in the UK, mentioned a house in London that had gone to Sirius and then to Harry as her cousin's will had stipulated. A number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She planned on making the trip tomorrow just to see if the lead got her anywhere.

Ashland dodged another charm seller as she passed the only store on the street she'd been tempted, but hadn't had the time, to go into. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was still bright, still open, and had the most hilarious signs parodying Ministry warnings in every window space available. Those signs were here daily pick me up, a kind of shining, or in today's case blinking, light in the darkness that was her shattered childhood illusions.

Today's newest sign flashed in green letters on a purple background:

**We can't predict if you'll be captured by Death Eaters**

**But we can guarantee you'll impress Divination Teachers**

**_Prophecy Professor_**

_Insert your personal information and she'll fabricate guaranteed-unique-each-time foretellings. No more racking your brain for new and interesting ways to predict your death!_

For tea-leaves, star charts, and crystal ball gazing only.

Not recommended for palm or rune reading.

May predict sudden death, horrific catastrophe, or maiming.

Do not use _Prophecy Professor_ if you suffer from pessimism, heart palpitations, or lack of any and all common sense.

She laughed and walked back towards the store front, peering at the display beneath the sign. Haphazard, leaning columns of brightly colored parchment pads that made her think of Muggle mad-libs, filled the window. And as she peered between two stacks to get a glimpse of the store, she saw a dark-headed wizard gesticulating rather wildly to two red-heads standing behind the counter.

They were arguing, that much was obvious. Ash sighed—she'd almost decided to give up on hurrying back to read through more of Regulus' babblings so she could finally check the joke shop out. But she didn't feel like stepping into the middle of someone else's problems at the moment, had enough of her own.

_Can't draw attention to myself yet…_

So she was straightening up to walk away when the dark-headed wizard rolled up his sleeve, showed the redheads his forearm and drew a wand.

According to the grapevine—of which her landlord Tom was still an integral member despite the drop in his steady stream of patrons—it had become Death Eater vogue lately to flash their marks if their powers of persuasion failed to impress. Which pissed Ash off every which way there was.

A weeks worth of frustration and uncertainty rose up from her gut and turned to anger. And where normally she would have stuffed it back down and not let such a simple thing as being bored and scared push her into something rash, she said howdy and welcome to that part of her that sometimes made her go looking for trouble. Made her Dad, when he caught her, look at her, sigh and call her his little Gryffindor.

So, letting control and reason take a short hiatus, she pushed away from the window and went straight through the door.

The door's bell—or rather something that sounded an awful lot like a lion roaring—announced her arrival. All three men jerked around to look at her, the two redheads with wide eyes and head jerks she supposed meant she should turn back around and leave. The Death Eater glared at her but slipped his wand back into his robes.

Ashland smiled and waved hello and then gave them her back, walking around to look at all the shelves—if she wasn't trying so hard to hear what they were saying, she had a sneaking suspicion she'd love this place. Of course, they weren't saying much at the moment; silence pressed against her from behind for several minutes. But she ignored them and picked up different products, and eventually the whispers picked back up.

She ended up in front of a display of Muggle items, close enough that she could hear a little better as she thumbed through a deck of tarot cards.

Death Eater was spitting his words in a wet hiss, "You will stop selling to the Ministry and you will start producing the items the Dark Lord requests."

One redhead spoke. "And you've obviously inhaled too much of your cauldron fumes…"

Followed seamlessly by the second. "Have your nose stuck way below the rim…"

"Because the day we do anything for Voldemort…"

"Is the day we're Inferi…"

Death Eater laughed. "Oh trust me, you're well on your way to making that a dream come true."

The first redhead snorted, said, "Excuse me…" and walked towards Ashland while the Death Eater talked on to numero dos.

"I'm just the opening act, you keep saying no and you'll find the Dark Lord himself on your door step."

"Excellent. We don't generally deal with lackeys anyway."

The first redhead arrived beside Ashland while the other was speaking, and she got a good enough look to realize they were definitely twins.

He leaned down and spoke quietly, so only she could hear. "You need to get out of here."

Ashland returned the grin he had pasted on his face. "You keep talking and it's gonna be hard for me to hear how this ends."

Death Eater and the second redhead were still whispering furiously.

"I'll be sure to have George owl you a written copy of the entire exchange."

"How about we just go over there and join the conversation."

"This isn't something you want to jump in the middle of."

"Oh, I'm already there."

"It's about to end badly."

"Not necessarily." Ashland grabbed the Muggle sheriff badge off the shelf that was part of the _Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle Takes America!_ display. "What's the Death Eater's name?"

Uno Red—as she suddenly chose to dub the twin before her—blinked, the fake grin fading. He looked at her with a seriousness that she could tell was foreign to his face, creasing it in all the wrong places. "Look, George and I were just bemoaning how the lack of willingness to get involved with others' business is running rampant these days, but we definitely don't need you to change our opinion on that topic at the moment. You'll only get hurt."

Ashland smiled, she liked this guy. "What's his name?"

He threw up his hands. "Baird. Limus Baird. Ok, so you can go on now…"

Ash held her hand out. "Ashland."

He shook it and smiled a genuine smile that showed dozens of laugh lines—oh yes, she'd chosen the right side here. "Fred."

Ashland winked and stepped around him, marching straight up to Death Eater Baird. "Excuse me, sir." She injected a little more 'South' into her accent. "I'm gonna have to ask you to vacate the premises."

Ashland was quite happy with her cop talk. Years of TV paid off at last—Dad would be proud.

Baird laughed—a sharp crack that raised the hair on her neck. "And just who do you think you are to tell me to 'vacate' anything."

"Martha Corey of the American Aurors." She held up the tin star. "On special assignment tracking several Death Eaters suspected of thefts in the States. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

Baird blinked at her, anger giving way for a moment to uncertainty.

He projected so loudly, she couldn't help but get an impression of his conflicting emotions when he met her eyes. Did he believe her and risk being taken in, or just screw it and go on with the plan?

When the first bead of sweat popped up on his forehead, she rejoiced.

_Oh, yes this_ is_ fun, just what I needed. Will Work for Flustered Death Eater. Hoorah!_

Baird's eyes flicked to the badge and he finally decided on screw it. "If you think I buy a word of that…"

"I don't much care what you buy, Mr. Baird. I know you're a Death Eater, I've overheard you trying to coerce these fine gentlemen out of some of their goods—which, unless our countries' versions of English have just grown too far apart, is the definition of theft—and I know that you're outnumbered three to one by a highly trained Auror and two wizards brilliant enough that Voldemort wants their genius applied to his cause. So, unless you want me to drag you on down to the American Embassy at the Ministry for a proper round of questioning, I suggest you vacate these premises as I so politely asked mere moments ago and we'll all just let bygones be bygones, go our merry ways without anyone getting hurt, etc."

She smiled as she said it, trying to hold in her laughter at the struck look on George's face where he still stood behind the counter and Fred's grin from over Baird's shoulder.

The Death Eater had his lip between his teeth, biting down so hard she was surprised blood wasn't dripping from his mouth. He stared her down—a monumental mistake on his part considering she used his stupidity as cover to raise her wand beneath her robes and cast a proper legilimens charm on him. Several images—none of them remotely cheering—rushed to the forefront and she blinked, letting the connection go before he noticed her subtle intrusion.

_Ah, so that's the plan then._

Ash held her grin and her tin star up beneath his now-empty stare and pretended that nothing had jarred her, playing her bluff to the hilt.

He finally caved and swished past her. Though he did pause halfway out the door and throw a threat back at Fred and George. "If you think you've escaped the Dark Lord, then you are highly mistaken. You will be hearing from us."

The door slammed behind him. Dos Red—her dubbing tendency made the logical leap and gave George a title to match his twin's—let his head fall forward, leaning over the counter with his hands planted wide to support him.

Fred whistled and stared at Ashland. "We figured tonight was the night. Fortescue, Ollivander…"

George looked up. "You might have noticed, we like a bit of defiance just as much as the next guy…"

Fred shrugged. "And we'd come to the conclusion that we'd finally defied our way to the end."

"You have." Ashland gave him an apologetic smile. "Or at least they think so. According to Mr. Baird, there are five Death Eaters waiting for him to lure the two of you out of the building in order to round you up for Voldemort, preferably alive." She raised her palms—badge in one, wand in the other—out to the side and let them draw their own conclusion from that.

Fred's eyes narrowed in suspicion—another 'look' he had to work awfully hard at. "Who are you really and how did you know that?"

"I'm Ashland and I'm a Legilimens." Ash tossed the badge back onto the shelf she'd taken it from. "Take it our leave it, that's more explanation than I normally offer."

George laughed. "We'll take whatever you're handing out."

"What do they figure's to keep us from disapparating right now?"

Ash smiled. "Try."

She watched them both turn, shiver and thump an inch back to the ground.

"Damn." Fred kicked the counter.

George wiped his brow. "When'd he set those up?"

"His friends outside probably set them while he was in here. They can't extend too far past the building since they're gonna have to apparate to close the trap."

Uno sighed. "Knew he wouldn't just leave...had to be more to it."

Dos grinned. "Nothing's that easy, Fred."

"And my acting skills are not that great, sadly enough." Ashland redid her ponytail—didn't need hair in her face going into a potential duel.

Fred shook his head. "But you got him twisted about…"

George nodded. "Unsure, which, along with a third wand, ups our odds…"

Fred jerked his chin towards the door where the Death Eaters waited outside. "Care to dig yourself in a little deeper and help us get out of here?"

Ashland drew her wand out of her robes. "Well, since I'm now one of the 'us,' I bet I can lend a hand." She grinned and gave them a wink. "Let's show 'em what a fake Auror and two genuine geniuses can do."

"D'you hear that, George? Doesn't even know us and she's picked up that we're genuine."

"Sharp girl, Fred. We should offer her the manager position."

"I imagine she's over-qualified, George."

"For us? Never."

"Too right." Fred turned to her abruptly, switching gears with practiced ease. "So what's the layout, Ashland?"

"Three in the back alley in case y'all got any smart ideas, two more waiting across the street to join up with Baird once he made his exit with y'all supposedly following. Whichever way y'all came out, that group would have sent up sparks and the others would have apparated in behind to cut off the escape."

Ash peeked out the window at the darkened street. "I imagine they're counting on us thinking the coast is clear and just walking out. So I say we give them what they want. Nothing fancy, just spring the trap and hope for the best."

"Devious in its simplicity."

"Marvelous in its straightforwardness."

The twins looked at each other and spoke at the same time. "Wicked."

George tossed Fred a hat from beneath the counter and came around to stand by Ashland. He handed her a similar hat and placed another on his head. "Shield Hats, one less spell to worry about in the fray."

Fred saluted them, the back of his hand pressed to the hat's brim. "Security in the midst of battle."

"Really." Ashland turned the hat about in her hands. "Awesome. Where'd you pick these up?"

"Invented them ourselves…"

"Meant it was a joke really…"

"But the Ministry's asked us to keep them stocked."

Ashland nodded, pulling hers snugly down on her head. "And Voldemort's gotten wind of the advantages you're giving his enemies."

"Hazards of the trade." Fred pulled his own wand.

George led them to the door, and they stood looking out the glass for a moment.

Ashland saw Baird lurking in a dark doorway just across the street, but no sign of the other two. "So. We walk out, I'll take the three in front—Baird's so afraid of failing here he'll be worthless. So that cuts the odds to fair."

"Fred'll take the ones that apparate in behind…" George put a hand on the door.

"And George'll split himself and go where he sees a need." Fred offered her his arm and she took it, changing her wand over to her left hand.

"Crack and egg, gentlemen."

The twins grinned and spoke together as George opened the door and Fred led them through to the street. "Luck."

Ashland watched Baird from the corner of her eye, acting as though she didn't know he was there. The Death Eaters let them get to the middle of the deserted street before sparks lit the sky and a loud crack sounded behind them.

Ashland didn't even bother to look back, just slipped free of Fred just as he turned around and yelled an _Expelliarmus_.

Ashland cast a silent _Reducto_ at Baird before the man even though to raise his wand and he flew backwards, cracking the wall behind him. He slid to the ground, stunned—or at least she thought so.

_Might've gotten carried away with the force behind that one._

The other two wizards in front of her—one to her right and one to her left—wore full Death Eater garb. Left cast a loud _Crucio_ at her, just as Right stumbled, taking George's yelled _Reducto_ to the chest.

The _Crucio_ bounced off her hat's shield, letting her throw another hex Left's way in half the time it would have taken her if she'd needed to cast a _Protego_.

Left's legs locked together and he fell forward, his wand skidding across the street, as her silent hex hit. She heard the boys cursing in coordinated tandem that only twins could have, but she kept her eyes on Right who'd recovered his footing.

"_Expelliarmus_." Ashland held her non-wand hand out and plucked Right's wand from the air.

George flashed past her on the right, dueling lights flashing back and forth between him and the Death Eater he was chasing down. Fred yelled from the other direction, a wordless noise of pain.

She winced at the noise and the distraction was enough that she didn't see Left worming towards her until his hand grabbed her ankle, tripping her. As she fell, she looked down and saw him—legs still glued together—hanging onto her. She twisted to aim a _Reductor_ at him, but the ground caught her first and she hit her head, blacking out for a split second.

But that was all the time they needed, because when her eyes opened again, Right was running towards her, his wand—recovered from where she'd dropped it—pointed at her nose. Left scooted closer to her on his stomach and ripped her hat off, taking a bit of hair with it.

_Stupid, stupid, how the hell have I let this happen…_Right skidded to a halt above her and her groping hand had just grasped her wand when he yelled…

"_Ava_..." And flew backwards, slamming into a trash bin behind him.

Three new wizards hurried towards them, the hunched figure in the lead still pointing his wand where he'd sent Right sailing into the garbage. Ashland kicked out with her free foot, slamming it into Left's jaw. He yelped and she rolled to get a good shot at him, but Fred yelled an _Expelliarmus_ first and caught the moaning Death Eater's wand.

Baird got to his feet and ran for the alley. Fred and one of the new wizards chased after him while George secured the ropes on the three Death Eaters who had apparated in behind them.

"Ashland, you all right?"

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the stooped owner of the Leaky Cauldron, his wand still on Right, though his eyes were glued on her. She let the panic wash over her, surrendered to it for a minute…_I did not just almost die, I was not that careless, I almost died, shit_…and then let it go, looked up into Tom's eyes, knew he saved her life and let that be that.

"Tom, bless your heart. I'd have been a goner."

He gave her a hand up with surprising ease considering his age and hunched posture. "Was getting awfully late, Ashland. I was worried. You know better than to stay out so far past dark alone and I jus' knew…"

"It's all right Tom. Just got a bit tangled in something that needed to be untangled."

"You have to take better care, Ashland."

Ash smiled as the old bartender looked her over for bruises. He'd been a godsend, Tom. She'd been on the verge of taking an apartment in Muggle London when her search for a place to stay in Diagon Alley itself didn't turn up a thing. Every place was closed or the owners unwilling to rent to a foreign witch when they had no way of knowing whose side she was really on.

But the morning she'd given up looking she'd stopped in the Leaky Cauldron on her way out and over breakfast she'd explained her predicament to Tom. She'd been the only customer he had that morning—the only one, according to him, he'd had in days—and he eagerly offered her a room there. He'd been her only friend and sounding board for the past week. And though she hadn't confided everything about why she was here to him, she'd have been lost without his kindness and friendship.

"All right, Tom?" Fred came over and shook his hand. "Smart one bringing over the Aurors. Didn't know there were even lurking about any more."

"They come in the pub every once and a while. Convinced them to come help me look for Ashland."

George joined them. "Dawlish and Hayter say they'll get those four to the Ministry. They'll want to come by tomorrow to get our statements. Figure it's best for us to get indoors for now."

"Baird and the last one got away?" Ashland winced slightly as she tested her full weight on the ankle Left had twisted.

Fred snorted. "Yeah, the cowards."

"Have you ever met any other kind of Death Eater?" George smiled at Ashland. "Don't know what sent you into the shop today, but we owe you."

"Actually, false advertising did." Ash watched the twins frown. "The sign for the Prophecy Professor drew me to the window, so it looks like y'all _can_ predict when Death Eaters strike."

The twins laughed and moved up on either side of her, each one taking one of her arms.

"Let us buy your dinner."

"Least we can do tonight."

"Sure." Ash spared a glance over her shoulder and watched one of the Aurors portkey away with Left and Right. The others had already vanished.

Tom led the way back through the brick archway and the back door of the Leaky Cauldron. Inside he gestured to the four-top he and Ash ate their meals at every night. "Here boys, get her situated and that foot elevated and I'll serve us up some plates."

He disappeared behind the bar and into the kitchen while Fred pulled out a chair and George helped Ash slide down into it. Fred drug another chair over for her and Ash rested her foot in it before running her wand over her ankle.

Her wand tip glowed green for a moment then flashed purple. "Just a sprain." Ash raised her voice so Tom could hear her through the door he'd left open to the kitchen. "Tom, you have any _Sprain-drain_?"

"Course." A few minutes later, he came back through the door, four plates and butterbeers and a bottle she recognized as the _Sprain-drain_ floating in front of him. With his wand, he set a plate and bottle in front of each of them and the empty chair left for him. He let the _Sprain-drain_ land next to her butterbeer.

Ashland took a deep breath, leaning over the stew, and sighed. "Smells as good as always, Tom. My compliments to the chef." Ashland dug in while Tom chuckled and shuffled back to the bar.

When he got back to the table, he plunked an empty glass down in front of each of them and a larger bottle in front of Ashland and sat. "Got more than just the _Sprain-drain_, look what finally came in today."

Ash looked up from her stew—_Hell, half gone in sixty seconds_, _let's hear it for duel-induced hunger_—saw the bottle and squealed. "Jackie D! Tom, you've gone and saved my life a second time today."

Tom flashed a huge toothless grin at her while she opened the bottle and began pouring them each a jigger.

Fred picked up his glass and eyed the amber liquid. "Who's this Jackie lady?'

George sniffed his glass, eyebrows shooting up. "Not much of a lady, I think."

"Course not. Uno, Dos, meet Jack Daniels—finest Muggle whisky around. And I do believe we deserve the finest tonight."

She raised her glass and the men followed. "To Tom, who saved my life. Twice."

Fred and George toasted together. "To false advertising."

And Tom added, "To Ashland seeing the Diagon Alley her da' talked about."

They clinked glasses and threw back their shots.

George whistled. "That's good stuff, Ash."

"No Ogden's Old," Fred winked. "But damn fine all the same."

"If you think Firewhisky's got anything on Jack, then you burned your taste buds off, Uno Red." Ashland poured half a glass of _Sprain-drain_ and chugged it, holding her nose so she didn't gag. "Oh, Lord've mercy, that's foul." She took a drag straight off the whisky bottle to chase the taste away.

"Hope it doesn't hurt to mix the two." Fred took the bottle form her and poured another round for everyone.

A comfortable silence fell as they dug into the meal. Ashland was lost in a replay of the duel, analyzing where she'd gone wrong—_do not become distracted by others, tune everyone but your opponent out_—when George looked at her, a spoonful of stew halfway to his mouth.

"So first time to Diagon Alley then?"

"First time to England." Ash sighed as she felt the _Sprain-drain_ kick in, leaching pain from the muscle and relieving the swelling.

Fred sipped on his butterbeer. "And you came looking for your Daddy's tales only to find the depths to which our fair alley has sunk."

"I was a bit disappointed." Ash shrugged and looked across the table at Tom. "But judging by the fine businessmen I've met and their stellar establishments, I can honestly say I see what Dad loved about this place. I wish he could have brought me himself."

"Why didn't he?" George had cleaned his plate and sat back in his chair, hands splayed over his stomach in an I'm-too-full gesture.

"He's dead." Ash threw back the shot Fred had poured her earlier. "Death Eaters killed him and my Mom a few weeks ago."

Fred picked up his shot without hesitation and toasted her. "To Ash's Mom and Dad."

She smiled her thanks, swallowed the grief and pushed it aside.

"Put my foot in it, didn't I?" George ran a hand through his hair, not looking at her.

"You mean you aren't up to speed on my life history? Tsk tsk, Dos Red." They'd had a rough night, been about to loosen up, and she didn't want him to feel bad over a question he hadn't known to not ask.

Ash suddenly grinned as she thought of a way to make George easy again. "Check it out."

She reached into her robes' inside pocket and pulled out the pack of cards she and her dad had enchanted themselves. "I liked y'all's Muggle stuff, and I think you'll like this."

Tom banished the empty plates but left the glasses while Ashland shuffled and spread the cards out on the tabletop so the twins could see the whole deck. The suits were the same as a normal Muggle deck, but the face cards were moving wizard pictures.

She pointed to the King of Hearts and smiled. "The Kings are my Dad, the Queens Mom, the Aces are me and the Jacks are my mom's dogs—she was a show breeder. The Jokers are my friend, Chris."

"Wicked." The twins each picked up a card and studied them while Tom wandered off towards the back.

They were debating the finer points of mass-producing such a product and whether or not wizards or witches would buy them if they weren't familiar with Muggle card games when Tom rejoined them.

"I've locked up for the night." The barkeep looked at each twin for a long minute. "Be best if you boys stayed here. Safety in numbers."

"Probably right, Tom." George picked up the King of Diamonds again.

Fred nodded. "Thanks, mate."

George looked up from the card to Ash. "You look just like your dad." He studied her face for a second longer and was about to turn to Fred when he froze, did a double take and stared at her again.

He shook his head like a fly was buzzing in his ear and muttered, "Nah" under his breath.

Fred picked up a joker and watched Chris' picture pull on the ruff around his neck and try to tug the hat off his head. "Your friend looks thrilled with that get-up."

Ash remembered the Halloween they'd taken those pictures—the idea for the cards already cooking in her and Dad's brains—and how they'd had to pretty much bribe Chris to join in their theme, pretending it was all for the Halloween benefit that year. He'd almost run away when he saw the hat with the bells on it. The look on his face…

She threw back her head and barked out a laugh at the memory. Her mother had been so shocked that Chris even knew the words he used to describe that hat.

Ash opened her eyes just in time to see the quick exchange between the twins. Wide eyes, pale cheeks, quick glance at her then each other then Ash again.

She frowned, her eyebrows raised in confusion. "What."

"Nothing." They said it together, immediately, and she knew it was a lie. But she wasn't going to push it.

Shrugging, she swept the cards back into a deck and began to shuffle them one-handed like she usually did when bored, nervous or on edge. "You could do a small book, or pamphlet, on different Muggle games. The rules and stuff. Sell some of the decks with the books as a package set."

Fred and George perked up immediately, forgetting whatever had goosed them.

"What kind of games are there?"

"Are they like exploding snap?"

The two questions overlapped each other, but she got the gist.

"Any of you boys ever played poker?"

All three wizards shook their heads.

With a wink, Ash started to deal. "Well, gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the wonderful world of Texas Hold 'Em. Your lives'll never be the same."

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry apparated straight back to the end of Privet Drive from Grimmauld place, despite not having his license yet. He'd apparated several times this week not to mention _that_ night when he'd had to apparate Dumbledore. Needless to say no one had caught him yet. And he'd be damned if he set foot in the Ministry—especially for some test—unless it was life or death.

Since Hermione had used his Invisibility Cloak to sneak back into the Dursleys, Harry stuck to the shadows beyond the street lamps as he walked up to number four. He opened the front door carefully, heard the TV blaring and decided to apparate upstairs to avoid risking his relatives seeing him return, considering they hadn't known he'd left.

At his appearance, Hermione looked up from the desk she'd transfigured into a table the length of the room and covered in parchment, books and candles. "You apparated into the wards?" Her eyes went wide. "Harry, if your blood lets you through, then You-Know…"

"No, I had to come out at the end of the street. I just came from the front hall, didn't want to risk walking past them."

Hermione shoved frazzled hair out of her face and rubbed at her nose where she'd already smeared some ink with her stained fingertips. "Can't say I blame you."

"Yeah." He picked up a book from the table and let it drop again with a sigh. "Remind me to ask Lupin about the Apparition wards at Grimmauld Place. I know Fred and George apparated in and out of the rooms, but I can't remember seeing anyone apparate in or out of the house itself. Do you?"

"Well, it could be that it's considered rude to just apparate into someone's home." Hermione rubbed her eyes. "But I don't recall…"

She pulled a stack of parchment towards her and scribbled on it. Harry leaned over the table and read the page's title upside down: _To Do._

"Why Lupin?"

Harry pulled the robes he wore over his jeans and t-shirt off and threw them in a corner. "McGonagall says he helped Dumbledore with most of the wards."

"McGonagall!" Hermione jumped up and hurried around the table to sit next to Harry where he'd just fallen back on the bed. "No wonder you're just now getting back. Are you in trouble…"

"What's she going to do, Hermione, take points?"

She smacked him slightly on the arm. "You know what I meant, will she make trouble?"

"No. She just offered to help whenever we need it. She was impressed with you redoing the Fidelius. Said she'd worry less about us now."

"You told her! But, Harry, I thought you said…"

Harry had to smile. She was blushing despite her concern, and Harry knew she was pleased that McGonagall had praised her. Hermione had been horribly short on adults to admire all the hard work she was doing lately. He and Ron thanked her and ooohed and ahhed over her as much as they could—when they weren't teasing her mercilessly for knowing _everything_, that is. But they just weren't quite the same thing as a Professor.

"Yeah. She brought up that it wasn't safe to be using Grimmauld and I decided it was better to let her know that bit than have her checking up on us or trying to follow us there."

"Makes sense. Did you…give her the secret though? So she can get into the house?"

"No. Not yet."

She shook her head and then took a deep breath, searching Harry's face as if looking for an emotion she expected to, but didn't, see. "How was…the portrait?"

"Let's just say that if we run across any portraits of my parents in Godric's Hollow, I'll let you and Ron deal with them." Harry closed his eyes, slid his hand beneath his glasses and rubbed.

"Oh, Harry. I was afraid of that…"

"I had to go, Hermione. What if something important had just been sitting…"

"I know, Harry. And now it's done."

"True." He sat up and gave her the briefest version of events he could, including everything he and McGonagall discussed and his questions about Lupin.

Hermione just nodded her head. "I imagine Remus is concerned with the expense. I've noticed he doesn't like to rely on what he considers charity—of any sort—and the ingredients for Wolfsbane are extremely rare and expensive. Not to mention it's a difficult potion to brew."

"But he's working for the Order, surely he could just see it as part of the job."

"I don't think he sees it as work, Harry. More like being part of the cause. Like a volunteer. He probably feels like taking anything in exchange from the Order would lessen what he accomplishes with them."

Harry stood and walked over to Hedwig's perch and stroked her head. "You studying Muggle psychology in your spare moments, Hermione?"

She glared at him as she stood and swept a hand towards the covered table. "What spare moments? I expect I'll have even less if I'm going to be brewing Wolfsbane potion every month now."

Harry couldn't look up, he was too worried about the answer to his question. "You think you could?"

"Well, I won't know until I try."

"And I've got the money for it—nothing I'd rather spend it on that's for sure."

"Then how do we get him to accept our help?"

Hedwig nipped at his fingers and Harry opened the window for her to go hunt. "McGonagall said she wasn't sure where he was staying for the full moon."

"Didn't he and Sirius build an addition off the kitchen at Grimmauld so he could spend the full moon with Padfoot."

"Yes. And if he helped us with the wards, figured out which ones were gone and put them back up…"

"And other things around Grimmauld …"

"Then it would only make sense for him to stay there, at the very least for the full moon, and we could pay him back with the Wolfsbane."

"He'll say he'd want to help you for free, Harry."

"And I'll remind him we'd help him for free too. Might as well make an even exchange."

They grinned at each other. They'd talked for hours every day, throwing ideas back and forth like they had just now for almost two weeks and still had so many questions to answer, so many problems without solutions. Finding even a single solution was a reason to celebrate.

"Excellent, let's eat." Hermione swished her wand and the parchment and books stacked in an orderly fashion in the corner. "Thought I'd starve waiting on you."

"Right." Harry pointed to the mounds of books in the corner. "You wouldn't remember to eat if I didn't force you to come up for air."

"Ha ha."

They transfigured the table back to a desk and laid out the fixings for sandwiches from their stash of groceries. Hermione started on her nightly rundown of what she'd researched during the day—tonight it was the history of Rowena Ravenclaw's extensive travels—while they fixed and ate their meal.

Her report over diner had become a nightly ritual, including the moment where the cat flap opened and a meal—tonight a bowl of watered-down oatmeal—was shoved through.

Hermione blushed with anger, just as she did every night when Aunt Petunia's meager offering arrived, and vanished it with a wave of her wand and a forceful _Evanesco_.

Harry wondered what Aunt Petunia thought he'd done with all the dishes. She'd yet to knock and ask for any of them back, though he did notice tonight's oatmeal had been in a throw-away bowl.

But then that was all according to the agreement. Harry had come down to breakfast the first morning after they'd driven home from King's Cross (before Hermione had arrived) and told the Dursleys he'd be out of their hair in record time as long as no one went in his room or asked him to come down stairs. So far it had worked brilliantly: he'd had minimal Dursley contact beyond the occasional moment when he ventured downstairs; a silencing charm, his relatives' fear, and his invisibility cloak to get her in and out ensured that none of the Durselys knew Hermione was there; and they were getting a good deal of research done in the safest, according to Dumbledore, place for Harry to be.

They finished their meal just as Hermione finished naming off possible places a Ravenclaw Horcrux could have come from.

"She was a great collector, Harry. I almost hope there isn't a Horcrux tied to her. All the places she traveled. There's just no telling what we'd need to look for."

"Let's not think about it right now—just hearing your list is giving me a headache."

"Try compiling it."

"I know, Hermione, I'm sorry."

"It's all right. We should contact Ron, see what he has to report for the day."

Harry retrieved the mirror Sirius had given him from his trunk. Ron—surprisingly enough—had figured out how to repair and cue it and its twin to the three of them. It had been the first thing besides Quidditch that Harry had seen Ron read up on because he wanted to, not because he had to. Ron had the other mirror with him and tonight would be the first time they tried to communicate between the Burrow and Privet Drive.

Hermione sat next to him on the bed, and he held up the mirror in front of them.

"Ron."

A couple of seconds passed before they heard someone yelling, "Be down in a minute."

And then Ron appeared, his room in the background. "I was wondering when you two would call. I was afraid I'd still be down at dinner."

"Sorry, Ron. I got held up at Hogwarts."

"You did go then…" Ron shook his head. "Well at least you're still in one piece. What happened?"

He gave the short version he'd given Hermione and Hermione added on their decision about Lupin.

Ron grinned. "That works out. I'll feel better knowing Lupin's at least looked at the wards. No telling what we've missed. Uh…no offense, Hermione." He added the end on hastily.

She just shrugged. "I agree. I already feel better about the whole thing."

Harry snorted. "Just because Lupin's an adult doesn't mean he knows what he's doing anymore than us."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Speaking of adults, quite a bit of activity here today. Charlie arrived, brought a couple of foreign wizards for dinner." He paused and frowned, not looking at them when he added on the next part. "Including Krum."

"Victor's arrived?" Hermione sat up straighter. "I wondered when he'd get here."

"You knew he was coming!" Ron stood up, taking the mirror with him. They now had a view of his ceiling behind him as he leaned over the mirror.

"Well, yes. He said in his last letter…"

"You're still writing to him!"

"Ronald. Lower your voice, unless you want the whole Burrow to know that you're telling us what's going on over there. That would defeat the whole point of giving you time there without us, if you'll remember."

She leaned towards the mirror and whispered, "Besides, we discussed that. And you know how I feel. Do you really want to bring it up now?"

Harry had the sudden urge to lean away and give them a moment; he really didn't need to hear this. But Ron sat down, slightly red in the cheeks and sighed.

"You're right. Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's working brilliantly, by the way. No one gives a second thought what they say or do in front of me. I'm just another piece of the Burrow scenery."

"Ron…"

"I thought you two were having me on, but they really do clam up when it's not just me. When you two are around."

Harry heard the edge of bitterness in Ron's voice and grinned at him. "Their mistake, mate."

Hermione sat up even straighter next to Harry. "Yes. I wonder how many times you'll have to beat Bill and Charlie at chess before they realize you're not still two years old. It really is very annoying."

Ron's mouth fell open a little and he just stared at Hermione for a moment before he grinned. "Anyway, there's another French witch. Ginny loved that, in fact she played look out while I listened to Shacklebolt, he showed up for dinner too, tell Marguerite she'd be flooing out with him. Krum's going on to Hogwarts, at least I'm pretty sure. Ginny found me hiding and made a big racket trying to figure out what I was doing right when Dad said something about flooing to a place ending in '--warts.' Not many places I know that end like that."

Harry nodded. "It's where the Order's set up according to McGonagall. Looks like they're upping the recruiting."

Ron frowned slightly. "Sorry about the Ginny thing, Harry. Had to let her play lookout once she found me listening in on Dad and Krum."

Hermione pursed her lips. "She wasn't _playing_, anything, Ron. She was helping you, and you ought to be glad she was."

Harry sighed. _So much for the earlier love fest_. "Productive day."

They both started and stopped glaring at each other long enough to look at him.

"Look, I'm off to write a letter to Lupin and then bed." Smiling, Harry handed the mirror off to Hermione and let her say her goodnight. He wandered over to his trunk and got out parchment and pen for the letter, staying busy and far enough away that they had as much privacy as he could give them.

He had just sealed and written Lupin's name on the front of the letter letting him know Harry needed to see him about staying at Grimmauld Place for the full moon when Hermione laid the mirror down on the desk.

"Ron says goodnight and he'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thanks." Harry left the letter next to Hedwig's cage and unfolded the old camping cot they'd found in the Dursleys' attic when he'd been looking for something—anything—of his Mum's that Aunt Petunia might have kept. Of course he hadn't found anything he'd hoped to, but the cot had definitely come in handy when Hermione arrived and he'd let her have the bed.

Hermione took the invisibility cloak and snuck off to the bathroom while Harry made sure the window was still open for Hedwig's return.

He was stretched out on the cot, feet dangling off the end, eyes staring at the ceiling, mind buzzing with a million thoughts when Hermione got back, took off the cloak and folded it neatly on top of his trunk.

She hoped onto the bed across the room and blew out the last candle on the desk. "Night, Harry."

"Night, Hermione."

Silence settled around them and he waited, counting to eighty-six before she completed the nightly ritual.

"We'll find something tomorrow, Harry. I know it."

He sighed before saying his line. "Me too."

OoOoOoOoOo

"Martha Corey." Laughter filled Severus' throat, but he contained it behind a sneer. "You dare come before the Dark Lord bearing such lies, such flimsy excuses for your failure."

Baird, the fool, glared at Severus from where he knelt in the graveyard at Voldemort's feet.

"What's this Severus?" The Dark Lord held up a hand, silencing Baird when he tried to speak.

"The name, my Lord, is from American history, a literary reference to a play about their idiotic witch hunt. Corey was a mere Muggle executed for being a witch. I doubt very seriously that any witch or wizard would truly gift their child with such a name."

"So. Baird was fooled by a well-read witch pretending to be an American Auror with a vague Muggle reference for a name."

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort hissed before he caught Baird's gaze, and Severus waited for the Dark Lord to tell them all what his Legilimency found.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was ice—slick, slippery ice. "I was under the impression that the Blacks—that Aries' line of heirs besides Bella, Lucius' wife and that filthy Tonks woman—were destroyed."

Rodolphus Lestrange spoke up from where he leaned against a crumbling angel. "They are, my Lord. Aries' grandsons are dead. All that remain are the three sisters."

"Then why does this Martha Corey look like Aries himself. A female Aries in his prime."

A cold weight filled Severus' stomach, but he pushed it away, cleared his mind. And waited. What had that idiot woman been thinking? If she ended up dead and ruined his plans…

Lestrange knelt. "I do not know, my Lord."

"Then find out. I want to know who this woman is and why she interfered. You are in charge of this until Bella returns."

"Yes, my Lord." Lestrange stood and disapparated instantly.

"Severus, you taught the blood-traitors' twins. Yes?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"What will make them see reason?"

Severus wiped his mind clean, hid the thought that nothing would ever make those two stubborn Gryffindor fools turn behind the thickest walls he could imagine. "They seem very infatuated with their newfound wealth, my Lord. They grew up dirt poor, as you well know, and were always scheming to drag themselves up out of the mud."

"Of course." Voldemort smiled, the slit of his mouth stretching like a reopened laceration. "Nott. Get in touch with our goblins. I want full access to the Weasley twins' vault and loans."

Nott bowed and apparated away.

"Now. Baird. I believe it is time for you to learn a lesson about Muggle literature." Voldemort drew his wand and Baird began to scream.

Severus forced himself to not turn away. Instead he plastered his sneer on his face and pretended to enjoy the show. Easy enough since he'd escaped into his mind and was imagining the Weasley brats going berserk when Voldemort seized the cash flow for their ridiculous joke shop.

The imbeciles wouldn't take it for the warning it would be and get away before the Dark Lord realized they'd never give in and just killed them. No. Severus would bet all the galleons in his Ministry-seized vault that they hadn't even taken advantage of the head start Baird had accidentally given them. The idiots were probably toasting themselves even now, still in Diagon Alley, more than likely setting off some of their annoying fireworks to honor their brave heroics. Believing they'd outsmarted the Dark Lord once and they'd just do it again.

_They may think they're invincible now, but those _children_ are no Potters or Longbottoms. _

His sneer widened—if possible—even more.

_And look what happened to them._

OoOoOoOo

**A/N:**

Thanks to RylieD and BooKworm-Granger233 for the reviews. Y'all made my day, so high fives all around. Hope this chapter keeps you interested in what comes next.

And speaking of next, it's Chapter 3: off to the Burrow; the full moon; Lupin; a desperate Ash stakes out Grimmauld Place; as well as all sorts of other goodtime fun.


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